The Unexpendable
by Chaotic-Theoretician
Summary: After their job in South America, the Expendables are confronted by a woman who wants to join the team. When she is kidnapped, the team must decide whether or not she has earned a place among them and in their hearts. Ross/OC/Christmas.
1. The Woman

"Damn, Tool, another one?" Christmas shook his head as he leapt off his motorcycle. "Aren't you ever going to settle down?"

"What the hell for?" Tool gave him a toothy, sly grin. He slapped the young woman's ass, murmured something in her ear that elicited a few giggles. She hurried away from him, headed upstairs. "Settling down," Tool said, "would be fucking boring."

"Says the one who doesn't take jobs anymore," Hale quipped, a silly smile stretching across his face.

Christmas nodded his head in agreement, suppressed a smile. Ross slipped out of the shadows, eyes flitting between his three buddies. Tool turned to him.

"Barney," he said, "is my life boring?"

Ross pursed his lips, then answered, "Well, we're the one's getting shot at, and you're here painting tattoos."

"You bastards." Tool shook his head, a low chuckle rising up in his throat. "Christmas, you up for a round before I have some fun upstairs?"

"Really, Tool? Now?"

"Hell yes, now. What? You 'fraid of losing tonight?"

"I'll whoop your ass so hard you won't be able to sit on it for a week." Christmas slid out of his throwing knives, the steel gleaming as the murky light in the shop hit it.

"Putting my money on you," Hale said. "Anyone know where Yang is, by the way?"

"I heard he found some warm body to sleep with tonight," Christmas replied, eyeing the decorated skull painting that was his target.

Tool reached down for a knife of his own, enjoying the coolness against his rough fingertips. Ross leaned against a motorcycle, shaking his head.

"I still think a bullet's faster than a knife," he stated.

"What?" Christmas pivoted to face Barney.

"Oh no," Hale groaned, "here we fucking go again."

"You know my knife has beaten your bullet."

"Not even close."

"Hey, girls," Tool snapped, "we gonna get started or what? I don't want to keep the ass upstairs waiting."

Christmas shook his head, left Ross's side. "Me first or you, smart-ass?"

"You're one to talk." Tool glanced at the knife in his hand. "Me first."

And with a flick of the wrist, the knife sailed through the arc and embedded itself into one of the skull painting's eye sockets. Hale smiled broadly, already anticipating the competition. Christmas laughed, took a few steps back from where Tool started.

"You think you're the best," Christmas began, eliciting a groan from Ross, "but I'm above the rest."

As he wound up to let his blade fly, another, black as tar, arced above his head and smacked into the painting, right in the middle of the painted skull. Ross leapt to his feet, reaching for his gun; Tool and Hale tensed, their fists closing around the nearest weapons, one of which was Hale's barbering blade. Christmas hastened to the open door behind him, poised for a deadly knife strike.

"Who's there?" Ross called out.

"Someone you'll get to know real soon, I hope," a feminine voice answered from the gloom outside. "Please, put your weapons down. I don't want to die tonight, if that's alright with you."

None of the men relaxed, even as a slender figure appeared in the doorway, hands empty and slack by her sides. She smirked at the men in turn, fixed a gaze on Christmas, then Ross. Ross shifted uneasily beneath her stare, his throat clenching involuntarily at the sight of the young woman. Tool set aside the knife he had grabbed, eyebrows arched in surprise, and took a step towards the woman, palms upward in a gesture of peace.

"And what's _your_ name?" he asked, unable to keep the suggestiveness from his voice.

The woman offered him a pretty smile, one that defied the venom in her reply.

"My name is Erin, and I don't fraternize with man-whores, Tool."

Tool's smile slid off his face. As Erin slipped into the tattoo shop, Christmas followed up behind her, tense as ever.

"How'd you know his name?" he asked.

"Oh, Christmas, I know all your names. The greatest asset of humankind is the ability to listen."

"You mean eavesdrop," Ross said, relaxing the hand on his gun.

"What's the difference?" Erin shrugged, let her fingers trail down a Christmas's motorcycle chrome. "When you guys check out a job, don't you eavesdrop and call it 'listening', Ross?" An unvoiced challenge sparkled in her brown eyes.

Christmas kicked the door shut with his heel, knife still in hand. "What else do you know?"

The blade gave a sickly gleam.

"I know what you all do for a living."

"Anyone could see that," Tool said, chuckling in an attempt to break the tension. "I'm a tattoo artist."

"Yeah, only because you decided to sit on your ass all day and fuck nameless broads. How fucking boring."

"Ouch, she got you there," Hale said, laughing. His white-knuckled grip on his barber blade betrayed his quivering nerves.

"What do you want?"

"Christmas, Christmas, Christmas." Erin shook her head. "You're so damn testy, aren't you? Is it because my knife hit home?" She gestured to the knife-board. "I'm sorry, but I just couldn't help myself. I always love a good competition."

Ross planted a hand on Christmas's shoulder, restraining him. He turned to Erin, put his gun away. A smirk tugged at the corners of Erin's lips. Ross approached her slowly and tried his best to look docile, if not friendly.

"How can we help you?" he asked.

"I want to join your team."

"Jesus." Christmas nearly leapt at Erin, his nerves fraying completely.

"Well, that's not such a bad idea," Tool commented, mouth stretching wide to reveal a toothy grin from behind his long, graying hair. "I wouldn't mind have you around."

Erin rolled her eyes over to Tool. "Just because you're being nice doesn't make you any less of a man-whore."

Tool held up his hands helplessly, the grin still on his face.

"Don't you have somebody to fuck upstairs?" Erin reminded him.

"Oh, shit, that's right!"

"Listen," Ross began tentatively as Tool clambered into the elevator to reach the broad waiting for him. "We don't need another person on this team."

"And this isn't a job for a fucking woman," Christmas snapped.

"If I didn't' know better," Erin said, eyes narrowing, "I'd think you were sexist, Lee."

"And what the fuck do you know?"

"I know you and Lacy are having problems." Erin turned back to Barney. "I'm sure I would be a valuable addition."

"And why's that?"

"I'm skilled in hand-to-hand combat. I have a large amount of contacts and resources available at all times. I know technology like the back of my hand. And I'm a girl."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Christmas glared at Erin over Ross's shoulder.

"How many mercenaries are female?"

"Zero," Hale commented.

"Exactly. No one ever suspects the woman until it's too late – or her husband was suspiciously murdered." Erin shrugged. "Please, at least consider letting me join the team."

Erin offered Ross a gracious smiled and brushed past Christmas, eyes locked with his until she stepped out the door and disappeared. Christmas faced Ross, found him staring after the woman, an odd expression creeping into his eyes.

"Ross. _Ross!_"

"Find out where Yang, Toll Road, and Gunner are. Now," Ross said, turning to Hale. "And you." He pointed at Christmas. "Come here."

Christmas yanked Erin's knife from the skull and glared at it, noting the black steel versus the blue steel he preferred. He followed Ross to the back of the shop as Hale started making calls. Ross took the knife from Christmas's hand, settled down on the edge of a table. Arms crossed, brow creased, he could have been _The Thinker_ if he had propped his chin on his knuckles. Christmas sighed inwardly, wanting nothing more than freedom from Ross's accusing stare.

"I told you that Lacy wasn't your type," Ross began, speaking in quiet tones so Hale wouldn't hear him. "Why are you still thinking about her?"

Christmas pressed his lips into a thin line, brow furrowed. "I love her, Ross."

"But she doesn't love you," Barney reminded him. "Let it go. We don't have the time to invest in relationships, Christmas. Women don't like it when their men are gone for weeks and they can't know where they are. It just doesn't work."

"Fuck." Christmas shook his head. "Fuck you."

Ross watched him storm from the garage, stopping only to throw himself onto his bike and race out with a squeal of tires. Ross shook his head, picked up Erin's knife. He paused for a moment to look at the sleek design, at the precision that was attributed to all throwing knives. An SOG knife, the steel was coated in black and, though strong, shaped extremely thin. Erin had left the handle bare, letting the SOG logo available for all to see.

Ross wandered over to the knife-dart-board and glanced at the hole Erin's knife had made in the wood. The slit, as small as the gouges Christmas and Tool's knives made, did not stand out amidst the marred surface. Hale yelled from the corner, arguing with Yang, as always, through the phone. Ross tuned the black man out, focused his attention back on Erin's knife. In the light, its subdued gleam seemed dangerous, as venomous as the young woman's man-whore comment. A shiver trickled down Barney's spine. He shuddered, safely pocketed the knife in his jeans as an image of Erin rose up in his mind. Her dark eyes seemed sultry, as did the way her hands settled on her hips.

_She's a pro_, Ross thought to himself, recalling the woman's stance, the way she carried herself into the room. Confident as she had seemed, Barney realized that she had also been wary of him and his fellow mercenaries, just as she should have been. He wondered if she would be an excellent addition to his team.

_She knew our names and what we do_, Ross reminded himself. _She could be a threat._

The phrase 'Keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer' rang in Barney's ears. He nodded his head to himself, turned to Hale as the man ended his call.

"They're on their way," the man informed Ross. "You're not gonna give Yang a raise, are you?"

"Why would I?"

"Because he's smaller."

Ross couldn't help but smirk to himself. "No, I'm not givin' anyone a raise."

"What's up with Christmas?"

"The usual."

Hale rolled his eyes, slid his barber knife into his pocket. "What'd you think of that chick?"

"I'm not sure." Ross touched the pocket that held Erin's knife.

"Is she gonna join the team?"

"That's what I want to talk about." Ross glanced at his watch. "How long till the others get here?"

"Five, maybe ten, minutes. What about Christmas?"

"He needs to be alone for a while." Barney sat down on the edge of a motorcycle seat. "His decision won't mean shit right now. He's not thinking straight."

"When does he ever?" Hale laughed to himself. "You sure you want the meeting here? Tool's upstairs, and I bet the fucking's about to start."

Ross shrugged, cast a glance at the unopened garage door. "We'll see."

"You know, Ross," Hale began, arching an eyebrow, "that chick might be good for _something_, at least."

"Something's got to be done about her," Ross muttered, more to himself than to Hale. "Call Yang again. Tell him he needs to be ready to bring up his contacts."

"Whatever you say."


	2. Decisions, Decisions

Yang arrived first. The moment he stepped into the shop, Hale started yelling at him. The short Asian snapped at the black man, threatening to deliver a paralyzing martial arts kick to Hale's balls. After a moment's thought, Hale shut up.

"Yang," Ross said, appearing away from the shadows, "I'm putting you to work."

"Wait! I thought you said you weren't giving him a raise!" Hale protested, standing up to his full height. Towering over the Asian, he stared down at his fellow teammate in mock anger.

They were interrupted by a high-pitched squeal from above.

"Another one?" Yale asked.

"Why bother asking?" Hale retorted, eliciting a glare from the Asian.

"Come here," Ross beckoned. "I want you to get it done before the others show up."

Yang and Ross settled down in the back of the shop at a computer screen. Yang brought up his database and his list of contacts while Ross played with Erin's knife. He turned the blade repeatedly in his hands, obsessed with the feel of it, with the color and the length. He swore he could feel the heat from Erin's hand still lingering on the handle, now thirty minutes after it had been thrown. As the database loaded, Yang eyed his leader out of the corner of his eye, nearly mesmerized by the dark blade. He dared to speak.

"Whose is that?"

"That's what you're going to tell me." Ross forced himself to put the blade down and focus on Yang. "I want you to look up a woman named Erin."

"A-A-R-O-N or E-R-I-N?"

"Probably the last one. That's a girl's name, right?"

"Sometimes." Yang glanced at the screen. "Last name?"

"Unknown. She's a pro, though. She uses SOG knives," Ross stated, gesturing to the blade. "I'd say she's partially Hispanic, maybe…brown hair, brown eyes, stand at about five-six, has light olive skin."

"How'd you know she is pro?"

"She beat Christmas's best."

Yang's eyes widened only marginally. Shaking his head, he swiveled to face the screen. He typed in the information, brought up the encrypted e-mail address of one of his contacts. Never a self-conscious man, the Asian was acutely aware of Ross's stare over his shoulder. As listings came up, he heard fingers sliding against steel. Ross fidgeted with the knife, staring at it with an unfocused gaze. Yang drew his attention to the screen, having half his hearing split between Hale messing around with heavy weapons and Ross twirling the knife incessantly. He nearly missed the beep that alerted him of results.

"Find anything?"

"Couple of hits," Yang answered, clicking on the list of results. "All are guys except…" He selected the last link. "Is this her?"

Ross glanced at the picture. Had it just been a snapshot of her eyes, he still would have been able to tell that it was Erin. He nodded his head, glanced away from the photograph.

"Yeah, that's her. What information have you got?"

"Very little." Yang scrolled to the bottom of the small page. "She works as an editor for a big publishing company. Single, so it says. No children. Nothing about a family. She lives a couple blocks over, and…" Yang trailed off, squinted at the screen, typed a few things.

"What's wrong?"

"There's nothing about her age." Yang clacked away on the keyboard quickly, scanned the lines of information that popped up. "Nothing at all."

"She looked like she was in her mid-twenties, at least." Ross shook his head.

"Looks can be deceiving." Yang turned away from the computer and asked, "Is there anything else?"

"Was that it? There has to be more." Ross relaxed his grip on the blade. "Somebody's got to know something."

"She's hardly in the system." Yang brought up a few more windows. "She's not advertised anywhere. She hasn't approached anybody or been approached. I'm surprised she's even in the system at all."

Ross frowned. "Did you check the FBI and CIA databases? Is she a fed?"

"She could be." Yang uploaded the federal agencies' databases, typed in the name and criteria. Nothing came up. "She's not a fed," Yang said, "unless she's in some secret sector I can't access." He paused, glanced at Ross. "Mr. Church might know."

"Mr. Church? The asshole who sent us to that fucking island in South America? I don't think so." Ross leapt from his chair, slammed the knife down onto the tabletop. "I want to know everything about this woman."

"Why?"

"Because she appeared out of fucking nowhere and knows everything."

"Gunner! Nice of you to show up. For once, you're ahead of Toll Road," Hale called out. There was the sound of hands clapping backs as the two teammates embraced in a man-hug.

"Ah, well, wouldn't want to miss his cauliflower ear story," Gunner replied, giving a deep-throated laugh. "Where's Ross?"

"He's in the back with Yang."

"And Christmas?"

"He took off. He's having a fucking hissy-fit."

Ross left Yang to his work and headed to the front of the shop, tuning out the obscene noises that were starting to creep through the ceiling. Gunner glanced up at him, gave him a lopsided smile.

"Hello, Ross," he said. "What's going on?"

"We've got to wait for Toll Road."

"What about Christmas?"

"Christmas isn't helpful right now," Ross stated. "We've got a serious issue."

The smile fell from Gunner's face. He turned to Hale, who shook his head and shrugged.

"Seems like a problem," the black man said, "but I don't care, and I don't think Tool cares."

"From what I can tell," Gunner muttered, "he doesn't have a lot to care about right now."

They paused to listen to the ruckus above them. Toll Road lumbered inside and broke the silence.

"I was having a perfectly fine nap," he began, voice raised, "and then you fucking called me, Hale! What the fuck is going on?"

"Yang!" Ross called. "Get over here!"

The Asian hurried from the back and joined them. Ross paced for a moment, wondering about the best way to approach the topic…and the decision he had already made.

"Half an hour ago," he began, "a woman came here. Her name is Erin, and all we know is that she lives a few blocks away, she has no family, and nobody knows anything about her."

"So?" Toll Road asked.

"She knows all our names, and who knows what else." Ross answered, removing Erin's blade from his pocket. "She wants to join the team."

"How'd she find out we're mercs?" Gunner stared at Ross, the lines in his face deepening. "Is she working for someone?"

"I haven't been able to pull anything," Yang said. "Nobody even knows her age. I do have a last name, though. It's Frey. Erin Frey."

"Sounds like an alias to me." Toll Road fidgeted with his cauliflower ear. "That's all you got?"

Yang nodded his head, solemn. Ross flipped the knife over once in his hand, searching again for a name on the handle. Yang gestured to the blade.

"I even looked for purchases of SOG throwing knives in the past year," he said, passing a hand over his face. "Erin Frey is nowhere in the files."

"And she's not part of the FBI or CIA?" Gunner stood to his feet, started pacing as Yang shook his head. "Did Christmas meet her?"

"Yes," Ross answered. He handed the knife to Toll Road, who spent a few moments looking the weapon over.

"And?"

"He wasn't impressed." Ross shook his head, sighed. "She beat his best, but that didn't piss him off."

"Then what _did_?"

"She told him that she knew he and Lacy were having problems." Hale took the knife from Toll Road and turned to Gunner. "_That's_ what pissed him off."

"How could she know that?"

"That's what I want to know." Ross perched himself on the edge of a motorcycle seat, stared down at his rough and calloused hands, his scar-ridden left hand.

The team lapsed into silence around him, the quiet interrupted only by the occasional sound from upstairs. Hale gave the knife to Ross, having skipped Gunner merely because the man was dangerous when he was as angry and perturbed as he was then. Yang paid close attention to Ross, unsettled by Barney's peculiar actions and attitude. Their leader gripped the knife tightly in his hand, hardly wincing as the hard edges of the handle gouged into his skin. He recalled Christmas's strong reaction to the woman before she had even mentioned Lacy; the memory of the British former-SAS agent's ease before the woman arrived burned in Ross's mind. He thought about it for a moment, focusing on what he immediately remembered.

"Christmas might know something about where she could've gotten the knife," Yang stated tentatively.

"Christmas may know more than that," Ross mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else.

"Why, exactly, did you wake me up? Just to talk about a fucking broad we don't know anything about?" Toll Road growled, throwing his hands up in the air. "I haven't slept in days, man. I am _not_ happy."

"She wants to join the team," Ross repeated. "We need to make a decision."

"I haven't met her, so I can't make a decision," Toll Road said.

"Same here," Gunner added. "I won't make a decision until I meet her."

"We have no way of contacting her," Yang pointed out. "We'd have to wait for her to show up again. That could be weeks from now."

"Yeah, and maybe we'll have another job, so we won't need to fucking worry about it," Toll Road snapped.

"She's a nice piece of ass." Hale smirked. "That's what Tool thought. She called him a man-whore."

Toll Road turned to face the heavy weapons specialist. "She called him a man-whore?" When Hale nodded, Toll Road spluttered into laughter. "She can join the team for all I care."

"That's what Tool said," Hale laughed. He faced Ross, found a glare on his leader's face, and cleared his throat, wiping the silly grin from his face. "I think we should let her join the team. If she's a problem, then we'll just deal with it. No fucking problem."

"I didn't meet her," Yang said, "but she sounds legitimate. Suspicious, but legitimate."

"I don't like it." Gunner rubbed his temples with one hand. "This doesn't seem right."

"I know," Ross said, slipping the knife back into his pocket. "It doesn't."

"What do you think?"

Ross fell silent. He thought about Christmas, about the woman, about how she had talked with an unnatural confidence. He considered the possibility of a setup, recalled the words she had said. He heard himself mutter them aloud.

"She said, 'No one ever suspects the woman until it's too late…' It could be a setup," he told his men.

"If she joins the team," Yang suggested, "we'd have surveillance on her that we don't have now. If something's suspicious, we'll be the first to know. It's better that way."

"'Keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer,'" Toll Road muttered. "If she already knows a whole bunch of shit about us, we should get to know her. If it's a setup, we can easily nip it in the fucking bud."

"A woman's no match against the five of us." Hale grinned. "We're the fucking Expendables, damnit."

"But women are sneaky bitches."

The team turned to face Tool as he stepped out of the elevator. A shirt thrown sloppily over his shoulders, the man appeared both content and disheveled, as though he had enjoyed his fuck but had suffered from it. Running a hand through his greasy hair, he shook hands with Gunner and Toll Road, gave them a lopsided smile. Clapping Yang on the shoulder, he addressed the group as a whole.

"She's feisty," he told them. "This Erin girl, I'd say, is something of a rarity. If she is working for the feds, we'll know right off the bat. The safest option is to add her to the team, find out where she lives, and keep somebody with her at all times."

"At _all_ times?" Hale's eyebrow rose. "What about when she sleeps? We're not fucking bodyguards, Tool!"

"No, and I understand that." Tool extended his hand to Ross. "The knife."

Ross handed the blade over to Tool, somewhat reluctant to let it go. Tool spun the knife between his fingertips. After examining it for a moment, he pivoted sharply on his heel, threw the knife at the knife-board. Gouging into the skull just above he eye socket, Tool let out a low whistle, shook his head. With a slow deliberativeness that set all the men on edge, he pulled the knife from the board, tossed it back to Ross. He let out another low whistle, passed a hand over his face.

"Pro," he said, nodding his head. "She has to be. The knife is perfectly balanced, but the shape of it – you'd have to practice for months to throw it where you want it. She was spot-on target tonight. She's got to have years of practice."

"Christmas could own her ass so fast it wouldn't even matter," Toll Road pointed out. "Like Hale said, she's no match against us."

"But women are sneaky bitches," Tool repeated. "They weasel themselves into your life to prove their innocence, and then they claw your heart out with their fucking teeth. Women can have you eating out of the palm of their hand and begging for mercy, even though you won't have a fucking clue why you're acting the way you are."

"What are you saying?" Gunner, frustrated as he was, nearly let his voice rise to an exasperated yell.

"Don't underestimate her." Tool gestured to the knife-board. "If she can beat Christmas's best, then we've got to be fucking careful."

Hale laughed. "Yeah, 'cause she'll knife us in our sleep. Good thing Ross never sleeps, 'cause he'll be able to watch over us."

"Is it a decision then?" Yang asked, glancing at Ross.

Ross stared down at the floor, weighing his options. He heard a motorcycle roar in the distance, wondered if it was Christmas. Toll Road shifted restlessly beside him, casting a glance at Gunner. Yang fidgeted with his hands, the hair on his neck rising as the silence stretched. Tool exhaled heavily, fixed Ross with an unwavering stare that deplored the man to accept things as they came. Ross nodded his head, unaware of Tool's gaze, and pushed himself away from the motorcycle seat. Glancing at his fellow teammates, he focused on Gunner, frowned.

"We'll let her join the team," Ross finally said. "Yang, create a schedule so that one of us is with her at all times. We start surveillance the moment she shows up."

"On it." Yang hurried to the back of the shop.

"Crash here, Toll Road," Ross told the ex-wrestler. "I want everybody here when she comes back. You too, Gunner. Get some rest."

Gunner, lips pressed into a thin line, nodded his head, slowly turned away to find someplace to lie down. Toll Road followed close behind, grateful to catch a few winks of sleep. Tool eyed Ross as the man pocketed Erin's knife for the umpteenth time. He met Ross's gaze, tried to read the man's expression. Beckoning to Ross, he stepped outside, drew the leader aside. Ross forced himself to look at Tool and met his steady gaze. For a moment, nothing but silence stretched between them, punctuated by the occasional car that roared by. Tool was the first to speak.

"Do you remember Columbia?" he asked.

"One fucking hellhole."

"We almost died there," Tool stated. "And you got this look on your face the last night we were there. You were conflicted, right? And you were shitting your pants over whether or not taking the mission had been a good idea."

Ross said nothing.

"What are you thinking now?" Tool leaned against the wall of the shop, shook his head. "You've got that look on your face. You've had it since that woman showed up."

Ross sighed. "I don't know, Tool. It's just…I don't feel right. She walked in, and everything seemed wrong."

"About her?"

"No. Everything else." Ross ran a hand through his hair. "There's something about her…"

Tool nodded his head, the smirk that marred his face slipping. "I know what you mean, Barney. I know what you mean." He pursed his lips. "Something's not right about _her_, though. She's hiding something."

"Aren't we all?" Ross stepped away from the wall, stepped back into the shop.

Tool lingered outside, enjoying the cool air. He watched the broad he had fucked slip out of the shop and hurry away, hailing for a ride from a nearby taxi. Tool shook his head, closed his eyes. The sound of a motorcycle engine broke him from his peace. Ross rolled his motorcycle out from the garage, wheeled to a stop in front of Tool.

"Where're you off to?" Tool asked.

"Christmas." Ross changed gears on the 'cycle, jerked a thumb towards the shop. "Stay with the others. If Erin shows up, call me right away and keep her in the shop."

"Oh, don't worry. I've got that covered." A slow grin stretched across Tool's face.

Ross revved the engine and took off down the street, hoping that Christmas had stopped at home or at Lacy's house. That was Christmas's only downfall – his predictability when he was angry. Ross prayed he hadn't done anything stupid.


	3. Lacy No More

Christmas stopped his motorcycle across the street from Lacy's house. Removing his helmet, he sat back on the motorcycle, stared at the porch. He frowned, half-wishing Lacy would step outside, look at him, and take him back without so much as a word of protest. The late night cool breeze tickled Lee's cheeks, curling over his balding head. In the dimly lit street, the half moon's light did not reach the asphalt, let alone the tops of the few trees that lined up on the sidewalk. Christmas cast his gaze to the horizon, noting the sea-green color that was still slowly fading from view, the remnants of a sunset now an hour-and-a-half gone. The darkness that stretched above that, forming the overturned bowl that was the night sky, brought to mind the pitch-black knife from half and hour before, reminding Christmas of the sound the blade had made as it sliced through the air. His frown deepened, and he fought the images that followed thereafter of the woman – Erin, she claimed – who had dared stepped into the Expendables' lives. The sway of her hips, modest yet sensual; the delicious curve of her breasts, her calves and ass included; the long brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail; but most of all, her eyes as she had stared at him – it all put Lee on edge, and only because of the odd feeling that charged up and down his spine and spread throughout his stomach. The images kept coming, his senses on overload. The breeze brought the smell of the mysterious woman to his nose, a not-too-distant memory that Christmas prayed he would forget. The look in her eye, the one that dared him to retaliate, seared itself in his mind, along with the recollection of Ross's expression as the woman had left the store, carrying herself with the grace and poise of a dancer, but also with the enthralling slinkiness of a panther, dangerous yet captivating. The expression on Ross's face reminded Christmas of the look that had crossed the older man's features when they had met the general's daughter on their previous assignment in South America…only, this time, Lee sensed it was different. Whereas before, it had been a look of I-need-to-protect-this-woman-because-she-shouldn't-have-to-suffer, the one Christmas had seen on Ross when Erin had talked to him was more along the lines of holy-shit-what-the-fuck-is-this-girl-doing-to-my-brain?

Lee shook his head, rubbed his temples wearily. The inexplicable fury he had felt earlier no longer coursed through his veins uncontrollably. Simmering beneath his skin, Christmas was well aware of the anger, was reminded of his unusual reactions towards Erin, a woman who had done nothing to him, so far as he could remember. Her face, vaguely familiar, itched in his mind as he filed it away on the backburner, knowing that whatever was bothering him would eventually come to mind. Christmas, with great difficulty, forced himself to think of Lacy. Erin's words, _"I know that you and Lacy are having problems,"_ echoed in his ears as a result. Lee growled inwardly, glanced up at Lacy's house. He knew, deep down, that Ross was right, that Lacy wasn't his type and that women couldn't understand why Christmas – and the rest of the team – would disappear for weeks, even months, at a time, not unless they were informed of the job. Women couldn't go without knowing where their men were, so it seemed. Women hated secrets, hated being told that they didn't need to know what was going on. They assumed it was an affair, that their man had left them without having the guts to say something to their face. What had Christmas been thinking? That Lacy would be different from all the rest? She couldn't be, because she was a woman – an inexperienced woman, in regards to any and everything dealing with military operations and federal plots and plans. Lee knew he couldn't tell her anything, couldn't inform her of his whereabouts or what he did exactly for a living. It would only put her life in jeopardy. And although Christmas trusted her, he could still imagine her telling someone about what he did, should they be put through a rift like they were now.

_But this one's permanent,_ Christmas thought. _She said she's not taking you back, Lee. And when Lacy makes up her mind, there's no changing it, understood? Just move on. Move. On. There are other fish to catch._

Again, an image of Erin rose unbidden in Lee's mind. He swallowed thickly, wondered if he could let go of Lacy. He had loved Lacy with a passion, a deep, profound love that had made his soul ache. Now, left to suffer without the woman he thought had loved him back, he felt as though his cold insides had been scraped away with the very knife he used as his weapon of choice. Life wasn't easy for him – for any of the Expendables, for that matter – but he thought he could handle it. Ross handled it, didn't he? And Tool? Christmas frowned, realized that Barney didn't chase after women anymore – the leader hadn't in a while – and Tool picked up any broad he could find just to fuck her. The rest of the team seemed to be just as loveless as Tool, only Lee was certain they weren't as precocious as the ex-mercenary-now-turned-tattoo-artist. Unlike Christmas, they realized that relationships were futile for them unless they retired…and they loved the action more than they could ever love a woman. Was Christmas wrong to think otherwise? He thought not.

A throaty motorcycle engine topped the rise at the end of the street, drawing Lee's attention. He squinted into the bright headlight as the vehicle rode closer and soon recognized Ross's face. Barney parked his bike in front of Lee's, angling it so that the younger man couldn't zip away unchecked, and settled down into his leather seat. He said nothing at first, letting Christmas think about what the older man might say. Ross glanced at Lacy's house, kept himself from shaking his head and sighing as he had a million times before. As he was preparing himself to speak to the knife-throwing prodigy before him, Lee spoke up first in a subdued and restrained voice.

"She loved me once," he said, staring hard at his ex-fiancé's home, "and I think she still does, but she can't live with the lies anymore…and I can't tell her the truth, now can I? She wouldn't understand. And even if she did, she would be put in danger. All because of my job."

"You chose it," Ross pointed out.

"And you'd think I'd have the choice to leave it, wouldn't you?" Christmas shook his head. "But when you've been taking jobs for what feels like forever, you don't really have a choice anymore, do you? It's like the job chooses _you_, not the other way around. And once it's chosen, it doesn't want to let you go unless it has to. Once we've had a taste, we just have to keep coming back."

"You can always choose," Ross said, throwing out the kickstand of his motorcycle so that the bike could support its own weight. "Life is about choosing."

Lee nodded his head, unable to meet Barney's gaze. He paused, then said, "Do you ever wonder if you made the wrong choice, Ross? About anything?"

"Every day," Ross sighed. Erin's knife weighed heavily in his pocket, reminding him of the decision he had made moments ago. "Some of the jobs I've taken and put my team through…most of them were never the best decisions. Tool and I – we were just lucky bastards to come out of it all alive. And the price was everybody else around us was dead, and we were the only ones alive, and my hand was shot to death."

Christmas passed a hand over his face, refrained from saying anything. A comfortable silence enveloped the two teammates, broken only once by the barking of a dog down the street. Ross watched Christmas carefully. The younger man, from what Ross could tell, was thinking long and hard about too many things at once. Barney hated to disturb Christmas when he was moody and pensive, but he felt he had no choice. Slipping out the SOG knife, Ross rapped the steel against Christmas's handlebars, drawing the knife-thrower out of his musings. Lee took one look at the knife and shivered, both thrilled and appalled to set his gaze upon the black steel once again. He took the knife from Ross's hand tentatively, uncharacteristically afraid to handle the blade now that his anger had simmered down. Sleek in its design, the knife itself reminded Christmas of Erin, something he hardly doubted Ross had missed. He flipped the knife once in his hand, felt the weight of it as it landed in his palm. Perhaps a pound in weight, it was nevertheless an excellent blade, manufactured as a top of the line throwing knife. Ross noted the dampened surprise and awe in Christmas's eyes, noted the way Lee gripped the knife as he would grip something fragile, yet revered. The younger man pricked his index finger with the tip of the blade and drew blood without applying much pressure.

"Her name is Erin Frey," Ross began quietly, not one to break the beautiful silence with loud and harsh tones. "She lives a few blocks away from the shop. Other than that, nobody knows anything about her. She doesn't work for the Agency or the Bureau. Yang couldn't even find out her age. So far as anybody knows, she doesn't have a family, she's single, and she's not listed anywhere as a merc. Yang couldn't believe she showed up in the system at all."

"Did he check for any purchases under her name at SOG?" Christmas asked, passing a finger over the logo on the handle of the knife.

"There's no Erin Frey in their records."

"Either her name is an alias, or she used an alias to buy the knife." Christmas handed the knife back over to Ross. "Did Yang check for a recent large purchase? If she's good a throwing knives, she'll have more than one. She's bound to practice."

"Yang went back only so far." Ross accepted the knife gratefully, slipped it back into his pocket. "Tool said that, for that kind of knife, Erin would've had to have practiced for years to nail the throw she threw tonight."

"She could've been lucky."

"Tool doesn't think so."

Lee shrugged, unwilling to argue against Ross's strong conviction of believing practically everything Tool said. "Did he test it out himself?"

"Yes."

"And then he said that?"

"Yes."

Christmas nodded his head, cast a sidelong glance at Lacy's house. "So, he's saying we won't find anything in the records 'cause that woman would've bought them years ago to practice? That doesn't sound right. That knife is top of the line. She wouldn't practice with it, not at the risk of wearing it out. She'd use practice knives, blades that are similar but aren't the same thing. And that knife looks brand-spanking new."

"So do yours, and you use your knives more than she does, I'll bet," Ross stated.

"Touché." Christmas tapped his fingers against his helmet, forcing down the memory of the black blade slicing through the air above his head and embedding itself into the skull painting. He met Ross's gaze, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice. "Why are you here, Barney?"

Ross paused, knowing he was now treading on thin ice. "The rest of the boys are back at the shop. We met to make a decision."

"About what?"

"About Erin."

"You didn't."

"Except Gunner, they all think it's the best way." Ross glanced over his shoulder as a car rolled past and pulled into a driveway up ahead. "We have no choice but to have her join the team. It's the only way to keep surveillance on her without wasting time and resources."

"Ross, this isn't a good idea." Christmas shook his head, feeling his anger flare up again in his veins. "This is bad. You can't do this."

"Why not? I make all the decisions around here – "

"Not without me and Yang! It's not much of a fucking democracy if you don't have all your representatives with you when it's time to make a big decision!"

"So you're saying you like your British fucking Parliament better."

"No, that's _not_ what I'm saying! You all made a decision without me."

"Majority overruled your decision," Ross stated. "I knew what you were going to say, it would've been two against five."

"And you said she should join the team." Christmas threw up his hands, exasperated. "I don't understand you, Ross, you know that? Something's not right in your fucking brain, not since the last assignment."

"I made the decision," Ross said, his voice growing hard, "to make her part of the team for security reasons. If she's with one of us at all times, we'll be able to tell if she's working for the feds or if she's setting us up. If not, then we're fine. There won't be any problem."

"No problem?" Christmas rolled his eyes. "Did you stop to think about what a woman would do to the team? She'd jeopardize our missions worse than Gunner ever could! She'd be nothing but a distraction. We don't even know if she's good or not. She could be the death of us!"

"Then we'll have to be extra careful, won't we?" Ross shifted his weight on the motorcycle, displeased with Christmas's mystifying reaction. "We have to find out how she got her information on us. As leader, it's my job to be concerned with people on the outside finding out about us just by listening. We could be in serious shit if there's information floating out there among citizens!" He sighed. "Do you know something about Erin, Lee?" He couldn't keep the mild accusation in his voice from ringing out loud and clear. "Is there something I should know?"

Christmas shook his head. "No," he said, voice firm, "there's nothing you need to know. I've never seen that woman before in my life."

"Then why are you shitting yourself over this? And don't give me some bullshit answer about your problems with Lacy."

Christmas opened his mouth to speak, decided against it. He glanced down at his rough hands, frowning. "I don't know," he answered, clenching his hands into fists. "I don't know."

Ross's phone vibrated in his pocket before he could say anything else. He flipped it open, said, "Ross."

"Better get over here pronto," Tool's voice said in his ear, and the call ended.

Ross slipped the phone back into his jacket, kicked the kickstand back against his bike. "We've got to get back to the shop, Christmas," he told the younger man. "Now."

He revved the engine. Christmas glared at him for a moment before tugging his helmet on and kicking his motorcycle into gear. With Ross in the lead, they sped back to the shop, weaving between traffic and making sharp turns to reach the garage as quickly as they could. Ross had hardly killed the engine before he leapt off the bike and called for Tool and the rest of the team. Christmas parked his bike next to Ross's, lifted the helmet from his head. He heard laughter from the front of the shop, picked out the harsh guffaws that were Tool's trademark. Even Yang laughed, although his voice sounded a little uneasy compared to the rest of the team. Christmas propped his bike up on its kickstand and strode to the front of the shop, close behind Ross. He nearly bumped into the older man as Barney came to an abrupt halt. Only half an inch taller that his leader, Lee nevertheless had to slide to the right to see what was causing the ruckus. His breath caught his throat, his heart seizing and tripping over itself in his chest. He heard Ross inhale sharply, was only vaguely aware of the accelerated pulse in Ross's neck.

"Hello, Ross," the silky feminine voice said. "Hello, Christmas. Feeling any better?"


	4. Rules and Tattoos

Like before, Erin was dressed modestly, although her choice of clothing molded itself to the curves of her body. The black t-shirt stretched tight over her torso, revealing the faint outlines of some abs; jeans, fraying at the bottoms of each leg, clung close to her skin. Ross took a step forward, scrambling to find something to say. Christmas's jaw hardened.

"Never been better," he answered, forcing himself to keep from clenching his teeth.

Erin offered Lee a genuine smile, unnerving him to the bone. Nodding her head, she turned to Ross. "From the way your boys have been acting, Ross," she said, "I'd say they're pretty damn excited to meet the newest member of the team. Am I allowed to thank you? Or is thanks forbidden?"

"It's generally unspoken but acknowledged," Ross replied, glancing with mild amusement at Christmas as he recalled the man's cry from the last mission – '_You could've killed me!'_ – in which he had offered no thank you for the saving of his life. "Who told you about the decision?"

The men shook their heads as Ross glanced at each one in turn, all claiming to be innocent. Tool just smirked and said, "We didn't have to. She walked right in and said, 'Good evening' – can you believe that? Good evening! Who says that anymore? – and then she sat down and told us she was very excited to be joining us."

Erin gave a small shrug, the hint of a smug smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. "You can tell a lot about a situation just by looking and listening. It's something I learned from the best."

Ross and Christmas couldn't help but notice the frown that washed over Erin's lips for a brief moment, nor the pensive and nostalgic look that spread into her pupils. She blinked and shook her head, smiled again and glanced around at the team. She received smiles from each team member – even Gunner, who offered a harsh grin that was more amiable than it seemed – except Christmas, who stared hard at her, fighting the urge to meet her smile with one of his own, and Ross, who struggled with the same but for, perhaps, different reasons than Lee. Erin met Christmas's gaze for the longest time, a tense silence blanketing the room, and shook her head, muttering to herself, "I'm gonna have to work on him." Lee refrained from stepping forward and yelling at the woman. His fury startled him, made him shudder involuntarily. Ross, sensing Christmas's discomfort, approached Erin with powerful strides, gathering about his air of authority and superiority.

"Lee, you're British, yes?" Erin asked, craning her head to look over Ross's shoulder; Ross faltered in his steps.

"Why do you care?"

"I'm met quite a few Brits, and none seem to be so…" Erin searched for a word, one that wasn't too harsh but still bit enough to get across. "I want to say thick-skinned. They've never been hostile, that's for sure. Where do you hail?"

"Fuck off."

"Huh. I've never heard of that province. I'll have to look that up, won't I?" Erin's eyes twinkled.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Tool asked, glancing between Christmas's stony expression and Erin's smirk.

"Of course." Erin rolled her eyes over at Tool. "One must make use of what little pleasures there are left in this world. I believe taunting ranks among said pleasures."

Ross cleared his throat, planted himself in front of Erin. Sensing that the big cheese was about to launch into something grand, Erin stood to her feet and faced Ross, slipping into a modified 'at ease' military position. Toll Road elbowed Gunner, gestured indiscreetly at the action. Yang met Christmas's gaze and arched an eyebrow, giving the slightest tilt of the head towards Erin. Christmas crossed his arms over his chest, safely distanced himself away from the woman and settled down on the tail of Tool's bike.

"We need to get one thing straight," Ross began, fixing Erin with a stare. "You may be with us, but you are _not_ a part of the team. Not until we say so. Understood?"

Erin nodded curtly, all expression falling from her face. "Yes, sir."

"Yang, Lee, and I make the decisions around here. You are not allowed to decide anything without permission from one of us. You're gonna follow all the rules and do what we say."

"As long as Tool doesn't order me to fuck him, I agree to those rules," Erin said. Hale snickered from behind Tool, eliciting a glare from Christmas, whose fierce expression forbade Hale from encouraging Erin.

"For the first couple of jobs, you will follow, but you will _not_ get involved. Understood? We want you out of the way and causing no trouble." Ross felt the hard edge of his voice slipping as he stared at Erin, focusing all his energy to keep himself from wavering in his composure. Speechlessness was a trait Ross prided himself for lacking. Lord forbid he developed speechlessness while addressing the woman. "As of right now, one of us will be with you at all times."

"At all times?" Erin nodded her head. "Understood. Am I required to spend much of my time here in the shop?"

"What? You've got better things to do?" Christmas called over Ross's shoulder. "If you can't devote time to the team, then don't bother attempting to join it!"

"Oh, no, I have a shitload of free time." Erin brought her gaze back to Ross. "I do have a house a few blocks from here, although I'm sure you guys already know that. The neighbors are suspicious enough as it is; I don't want to be missing from my house too long unless I have to."

"You should be here most of the time," Ross said. "We have business to take care of most the time."

"I'm sure." Erin clicked her low boot heels together, tightened the hands clasped behind her back.

"What did you mean by suspicious?" Yang asked, shifting his weight against the table he was leaning against.

"Oh, the neighbors, you mean?" Erin gave a quiet, nearly indiscernible sigh. "I moved here recently. Neighbors are always suspicious of a new neighbor, especially if that neighbor is a single woman buying a three-bedroom, two-bathroom house. I'd be suspicious if I were them." She pursed her lips, cocked her head slightly. "Then again, I'm kinda paranoid. And narcissistic." She suddenly burst into mild chuckling. "Although," she said, glancing at all the men in turn, "they'll probably think I'm a whore."

"Why's that?" Tool's eyebrows arched high. He moved forward to face Erin. "You don't bring a new man to the house every night, do you? That's kinky."

"You're definition and my definition of kinky are different, Tool; I'm pretty damn sure of that." Erin offered him a smile nevertheless, drawing the familiar wide and toothy grin. "No, I don't bring different guys to the house every night. Not until now." Her gaze drifted to Christmas, held his eyes for a brief moment. "I could care less about the fucking neighbors. I just want to know how all this is gonna work out. Got a schedule or something?"

"Yes," Yang answered, tapping his temple. "But you don't get to know."

"Keep me on my toes, then?" Erin shook her head, a broad grin tugging at her lips. "No problem." She turned to Ross, stared up into his eyes. "Is that all for now? The boys want to talk to me some more, can't you tell?"

Ross glanced away and looked at his men. Hale, Toll Road, Gunner, and Tool seemed all too full of anticipation, the expressions on their faces indicating their eagerness to resume their conversation with Erin. Ross frowned inwardly, disbelieving. The men had only known Erin for ten minutes, maybe more, and yet they had already been enraptured.

_Such is the effect of women,_ Ross thought, forcing himself to meet Erin's gaze again. Though only a foot away, the close proximity made Ross mildly claustrophobic. Knowing that he would have the first shift for surveillance on Erin, he could only imagine the anxiety – something he rarely felt – he would experience. Erin's eyes smiled at him, offering an unvoiced challenge, offering a dare. _'Try me,'_ they said. _'Go on ahead. It'll be fun – when I whoop your ass.'_

Ross nodded his head. Erin followed suit and turned back to the men, rolling her shoulders as if to relieve tension in her neck. Settling down on the edge of Tool's tattoo seat, she propped her ankle on her knee, leaned back, and turned to Tool.

"Heya, Tool, I've been thinking about getting a new tat." Erin cocked her head, thinking. "Don't know what it'll be yet, though. Got any suggestions?"

"Loads." Tool grinned. "For you, I think something sexy's in order, don't you think, boys?" He sized up Erin with his eyes, eyebrows arching. "Mmm, that'd be nice. What do you think about chains? Wrapping are your body – hell yeah. Or spider webs. Spider webs, yes. Tried to get spider webs on Christmas's head, but he wouldn't let me. Would've been fucking sexy, with this big black widow spider stretching down the side of his face and everything. Could've had one of her legs touching the corner of his mouth, too."

"In your dreams," Christmas snapped, although he was unable to keep from smiling.

"Nah." Erin shook her head. "Christmas wouldn't look good with a tat on his head. It'd ruin his pretty face." Erin pursed her lips. "I was thinking something…sexy, yeah, but not slutty, you know? I don't like the thorny roses or spider webs and shit. I don't know. Got anymore ideas?"

"Ooo, I could paint a big-ass panther on your body," Tool exclaimed, the excitement creeping into his voice and eyes. "Like that actress – what's her name? Oh, yeah, Jennifer Aniston – in that movie _Bounty Hunter_ wanted. Tail down one leg, face between your tits, paws on the ass, paws near your vagina…it'd be my masterpiece."

Erin shook her head. "I doubt you'll get to see anything but my back. Nice try, though. What else you got?"

As Erin and Tool tossed around ideas, Toll Road, Gunner, and Hale chipping in and getting just as excited – and, albeit, turned on – as Tool, Ross turned to Yang and pulled him aside. The Asian beckoned Christmas over, too, noting the painful look that crossed the Brit's face as Tool painted vivid images of what he wanted to do with the canvas that was Erin's body. Even Ross fought to ignore Tool's comments and the images that followed of Erin. Only Yang, gifted with a sexual interest toward Asian women alone, avoided all arousing feelings.

"What's the schedule?" Ross asked, tempted to shove earplugs into his head so as to drown out the laughter from the rest of the team. "I'm first, then who?"

"I wasn't sure whether you wanted me to make a daily schedule or weekly one," Yang answered. "I ordered it like this: you first, then Christmas, Hale, me, Toll Road, and Gunner. I didn't include Tool because of what might happen if he and Erin were left alone." His gaze involuntarily flit to the older man, who was clearly aroused as he imagined all the things he could paint on Erin's body.

"I think daily would be best," Christmas said. "I don't want to spend a whole fucking week following her ass."

"Oh, I'm sure you'd like it, Lee," Erin's voice spoke up behind Christmas. "It's wonderful being British, isn't it, Christmas? No matter how many people are in a room talking, somebody can always pick out the British voice from the crowd, unless he's _whispering_."

Red flushed up Christmas's neck and face, partially embarrassment, mostly anger and frustration. Ross planted a hand on Lee's shoulder, looked him straight in the eye, and said, "We'll do daily for a week or so. Then we'll switch to weekly."

"If she lasts that long," Christmas muttered, clicking his heel against the ground. "How're we gonna do this? We just literally follow her ass wherever it goes?"

"Wherever it goes," Ross repeated. "It's the best way."

"Best way my ass," Lee growled. "I still think this is a bad fucking idea."

"It will be if you kill her while she's sleeping, Christmas." Ross stared hard at the younger man, daring him to argue. "Whatever your problem is with her, put it fucking aside. You'll just have to deal with her, understood?"

Christmas exhaled heavily, nodded curtly. He glanced over at Erin amidst the men, noting the ease at which she made the men laugh and how she appealed to them in more ways than one. She made a snappish remark at Hale, eliciting guffaws from the other men, Tool especially so. As she smirked, her eyes wandered over to Christmas, made eye contact. Her brown eyes revealed nothing aside from a flintiness that hardened her face and deepened the faint lines around her mouth and on her forehead. Christmas kept the eye contact, stared as hard and fiercely as he could. Erin looked away first, drawn out of the fierce gazing 'contest' by Gunner, who had made some obscene joke that required a response. Her face turned almost to profile, Christmas _looked_ at her for the first time. He frowned, feeling his stomach flip as he realized he was admiring her features: the soft contours of her face, the glow of her skin underneath the harsh lights, the angular lines formed by what seemed to be age. The shadows on her face lengthened, stretched down her graceful neck, touched the top of her t-shirt. Christmas shivered not unpleasantly.

"Listen, boys," Erin said, climbing to her feet, "I'd love to stay and chat, but it's getting late, and I had a rough night last night. I need my sleep. I'll see you all tomorrow, right?" The men nodded their head unanimously, disappointed that Erin was leaving so soon. "Tool, you keep on thinking about ideas for a tat, 'kay?"

"All night, baby. All night."

"I was hoping you'd say that." Erin gave a coy smile to the men and sauntered over to Christmas. He tensed as she drew near.

For a moment, nothing but silence filled the space between them. Erin searched for some truth in Lee's gaze, for some kind of information that could help clarify all that was going on. She received nothing and sighed inwardly, knowing that, for Christmas to trust her, she'd need to work hard on him and do all that she could to make him believe she was okay. She offered him her hand. Though not necessarily a gentleman's gentleman, Christmas nevertheless took it and gave her a firm shake. She gripped his fingers just as firmly, but with a softness somewhere in between the handshakes of men and women. She dropped her hand, but not before Christmas agonized over the feel of her skin against his.

"I hope," she said, "that things'll turn out okay."

As for what she meant, Christmas hadn't a clue.

"Ross." Erin tapped the leader on the shoulder. "Can we go home now? I'm practically dead on my feet."

Ross nodded, cast a glance at Yang, then Christmas. Christmas nodded his head, his eyes following the two as they headed over to Ross's motorcycle in the back. Ross swung his leg over, started up the 'cycle, and centered his balance as Erin hopped onto the back. She grabbed the edge of the seat rather than his waist. Surprised, Ross kicked the motorcycle into gear and guided it out of the shop, acutely aware of the unnerving stares that followed him as he left. The night air enveloped him, sending shivers down his spine. Erin gave him directions, and they were soon at her house.

Located in a quiet neighborhood, the home, medium in size, did not stand out amongst the others lined up on either side of it. Erin directed Ross into the garage, where she waited for him to kill the 'cycle's engine before climbing off. She wove her way to the door connecting the garage to the house, navigating her way through the near darkness with ease. Ross followed close behind, glancing around quickly, wary. The garage door rattled shut behind him as Erin flipped on the light and stepped into her home, boots clicking softly against the wooden floor. Ross trailing a yard behind, the woman made her way through the house, checking in on each and every room – bathrooms included – before stopping in the kitchen.

"Hungry?" she asked, throwing open the refrigerator door and glancing through its meager contents; she didn't wait for a response. "Me neither." Letting the weight of the refrigerator door shut itself, Erin faced Ross, amused by the tense sinews in his neck as he scoped out the house in his own meticulous fashion. "I know you don't sleep much, but the guest bedroom's always available. It's next to my room." She beckoned above her and approached the stairs. "If you're that paranoid about me, there's a comfy chair – come on, I want to sleep; let's get up there! – for you to sit in and doze, if you need to."

"I doubt it." Hesitant, Ross took the steps two at a time and paused by Erin's bedroom door, peering into its bland interior. Bare, aside from a couple of tattered boxes, a bureau, a desk, the comfy chair, and a bed, the room offered no sense of hospitality or warm welcome. It seemed just as lifeless as Erin's throwing knife.

"You can keep the knife, by the way," Erin said, tugging out some clothes from underneath one of the bed's pillows. "I figured you kept it, since you haven't given it back. I've got plenty of others. You could give that knife to Christmas, if he wants it. I'm sure he'd be happy to mess with a new blade."

Ross, who had glanced into the adjoining bathroom, turned to address Erin and was shocked to see the woman removing her shirt. Back facing him, she tugged the t-shirt off, revealing the backside of her black bra. Somewhat flustered, Ross couldn't force himself to turn away. His eyes settled on Erin's left shoulder. A small three-by-five tattoo had been etched into her skin. A gray wolf bared its teeth at him, eyes flashing dangerously, as another gray wolf stretched its head to the sky, muzzle opened in a howl. Small, indiscernible writing scrawled beneath the tat, half hidden by Erin's bra strap. Before Ross could step forward and inspect closer, Erin tugged on a thin tank top. Slithering out of her pants, she slipped into extremely thin, holey basketball shorts, the name Frey scribbled on the bottom of her right hem.

"Tool will be disappointed when he finds you you've already got a tattoo," Ross managed to say.

"Yeah, well, I don't think I'll be getting another one. Not for a while, at least." Erin's voice was curt, her tone clipped. She tugged back the cover sheet of her bed violently.

"What's it represent?" Ross dared to ask, settling down into the comfy chair.

Erin sighed, threw herself onto the bed. She clicked the lights off, letting nothing but murky street lights enter the room through half-slatted windows. She finally answered, "It's a logo."

"For what?"

"An old team."

Ross heard Erin roll over and tug the blankets over her body.

"Goodnight, Ross," she said.

_An old team_, Ross thought, leaning back into the chair, hand on his gun. _An old team?_


	5. Pancakes

**A/N: **Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! I've never had so many positive reviews, and for only four chapters! Thank you all so much!

By the way, I changed the rating from T to M because I realized that, eventually, this story will become very M-rated material. Hehehehe. :P

* * *

"Good morning."

Ross nearly dropped the spatula in his hand. Unnerved that he hadn't heard Erin descend the stairs, he turned to her, spatula clutched awkwardly between his fingers, and involuntarily drank in Erin's disheveled hair, her basketball sleeping shorts, and her askew t-shirt. She yawned, eyelids fluttering lazily and settling down into a half-closed position, and stretched, fingers reaching to the sky.

"Is that breakfast?" she asked, arching her back before relaxing and letting her arms fall back down on at her sides.

Ross glanced at the various pans, bowls, and plates he had spread out on the spacious, granite kitchen countertop. The steel, some tarnished, most brand-spanking-new, glinted in the early morning light. Ross put the dirtied spatula into the large bowl, scraped clean of all flour, and set it aside, revealing a plate stacked high with pancakes. Ross's gaze flicked over to Erin, whose eyes had lit up with almost a childish pleasure.

"You made pancakes!" she exclaimed, stepping into the kitchen and reaching for a clean fork nearby. "Just goes to show that a scary looking hunk of a man can cook."

"Not very well," Ross amended, sliding the plate over to Erin. "The table's set up."

"You don't look like the guy that cooks and eats pancakes." Erin took the plate and set it in the middle of the table, mildly amused to find two sets of plates set up. "I can't believe you made pancakes."

"Only because this is the first time I've seen enough variety in a pantry to actually make _food_."

"That so?"

"I got tired of eating take-out and frozen dinners, that's all." Ross heaped the last few pancakes onto a separate plate and joined Erin at the table, one hand carrying pancakes, the other carrying maple syrup.

Erin smirked and tossed a few pancakes onto her plate, reaching for the syrup with her free hand. Pouring a generous amount of the sugary, viscous liquid onto the cooked batter set before her, she cut a large slice out of the first pancake and shoved it into her mouth. Light and airy, just as it should be, the pancake, coupled with the sweet maple syrup, made Erin's mouth water. She swallowed thickly and turned to Ross, eyebrows rising in surprise.

"These are exceptional!" Erin gave him a broad smile, revealing a set of near-perfect teeth. "Better than what I would've made for breakfast. I can't cook to save my fucking life. I just hope I never have to take a job that involves cooking, else I'd be screwed so hard I wouldn't be able to walk out of it alive. The only things I know how to cook are eggs, cereal, oatmeal, macaroni and cheese, and grilled cheese sandwiches."

Ross grunted, savoring the pancake, surprised that he had actually created a good meal. Erin devoured three more pancakes, heaped a fourth on her plate, and dove in, as though she hadn't eaten in years. Ross watched her out of the corner of his eye, noting her mannerisms and complete disregard of etiquette and table manners. She nodded her head in approval occasionally, as if carrying conversations on with herself in her head and agreeing with them. At one point, she glanced up at Ross, met his gaze. Ross stopped chewing, focused on her eyes. He sensed she was trying to deliver a message in unspoken words, and he was just out of reach, unable to decipher her code. Her brown irises drew him into their swirling pools, captivating Ross as he struggled to reach beyond the bordered up windows of her pupils.

For a brief, brief moment, he was granted access. The windows flew open, revealed Erin's soul to the bone. No longer did Ross see the smart-ass, sarcastic, and precocious woman that he had met the night before. A timid woman sat in her place instead, plagued by negative thoughts and bad memories, driven by burdens and obligations. The lines that marred her face deepened. They were not the lines a young woman should have; rather, they were of a woman twice her age, taking the first stumbling steps into her early fifties, already filled to the brim with experiences of all types. In her eyes, she was a woman grown small, defiant but close to defeat, determined but weary enough to drop dead in the middle of a conversation. There sat a woman shoved too quickly into adulthood, denied of the golden years of her youth. There sat a woman whose soul was straggling along, dying a little more each day. There sat a woman who believed in fighting and war and death, who desperately wanted peace and serenity and life, yet still craved the delicious flavor of adventure and adrenaline. There sat a woman just like Ross.

The windows slammed shut in an instant, however, before Ross could comment. Erin's smile wavered on her face, her gaze dropping to the half-eaten pancake still left on her plate. She forced the rest of it down, not one to leave anyone's cooked food uneaten, and quickly stood to her feet, intending to put her dishes in the sink. Ross's eyes followed her as she went through the motions, cleaning and drying the dish, putting it away in the cupboard; the fork, once cleaned, back into the drawer. Barney made himself swallow the rest of his pancake, stood to his feet and went to the sink. Erin reached for his plate, tried to take it from his hands to wash it. He shook his head and did it himself, still eyeing the woman as she stepped aside and glanced around uncertainly, lost for a second in her own home.

"I'll take the rest of the pancakes to the boys," Ross said, snapping the silence in half. "They'd be glad for a change of pace."

"They could always go to IHOP," Erin stated, stacking the leftover pancakes onto a bigger dish in order to be Ceram wrapped easier. She stretched the thin, sticky plastic taunt over the breakfast food.

"They don't like to spend their money on good food." Ross couldn't help but chuckle quietly to himself. "It seems bikes and babes are more important than money."

"Is that what you believe?"

"No."

"Then what do you do with your money?"

"Pay off my bills."

"Touché." Erin grabbed the bottle of maple syrup, capped it. "Got any family, Ross?"

"No."

"No parents? No brothers or sisters? No kids?"

"Don't have time for kids." Ross dried his dish and set it back into the cupboard, glancing over his shoulder to find Erin looking at his back, one eyebrow arching high on her head, a queer look entering her eyes. Ross cleared his throat, continued, "Parents died of cancer. Mom was one helluva smoker, and Dad was an alcoholic. I'm their only kid."

"D'you turn out like them?" Erin asked, putting the stack of pancakes into a plastic bag that she had magically procured.

"Who, Mom and Dad?" Ross shook his head and leaned against the counter, arms folded across his chest. "I don't smoke, not after I saw what it did to my mother. I drink sometimes. You know, when we've done a job and stuff."

"And you don't have any addictions whatsoever?"

"Well…" Ross glanced away, thought for a moment. "Not a normal addiction, if that's what you're asking."

"You're addicted to the job." It was a statement, not a question. Erin tied the top of the back into a simple knot and absentmindedly scratched at one of her breasts. "You're addicted to the action and the adventure and the adrenaline. 'Cause you could've quit by now, couldn't you? But you haven't, 'cause you're addicted."

"Something like that."

"Aren't we all…" Erin suppressed a yawn and stared at the floor, her words reminding Ross of what Christmas had said the night before about the job, about how the mercs, having done the job for the longest time, no longer had any control over whether or not to quit.

"What happened to your family?" Ross heard himself ask, and he wondered if it was just to keep the young woman talking. He realized he liked the sound of her voice, his throat growing dry as he acknowledged the epiphany as though it were common sense.

"Nothing special. Brother died in a car accident, parents died over the grief." Erin shrugged. "I wasn't around much, anyway…I think that made it worse for my folks."

"I would think your parents would've kept on living for you."

Erin shook her head tentatively. "No, I was the firstborn, the independent, the child they didn't have to worry about 'cause I was fucking smart enough to keep myself out of trouble. By eighteen, I was out of their lives. Not by choice, really…" Erin shrugged again, scuffed her bare heel against a wooden floor panel. "Since they didn't have to worry about me, you know, they didn't pay much attention to me. You know that saying that the first child is the favorite? It's a bunch of bullshit. The parents spend too much time fussing over the other children that they forget about their perfect firstborns. How fucking great, you know? And it was funny, 'cause they thought I wouldn't get into trouble, that I was the most perfect child in the whole fucking world…and they were wrong." She shook her head, laughed bitterly to herself. "So wrong. If they only knew." She snapped her head back, looked at Ross, then over his shoulder. "I'm gonna get dressed, that way we can go and fed those hungry boys."

And with that, she turned on her heel and hurried from the room, round ass jiggling slightly in her shorts. Ross waited for a moment, then pushed himself away from the counter and followed her up the stairs, trying to simultaneously be aware of his surroundings and think about what Erin had just told him. He stood in the doorframe of her room, expecting Erin to tell him to step outside so he wouldn't see her undress. To his surprise, she didn't. As though he wasn't there, she stripped herself down to underwear and bra, shoved her sleeping clothes beneath her pillow, tugged the sheet tight over the mattress. She hummed to herself, the melody vaguely reminiscent of an old-time film score, and glanced out the window, pushing up one of the slats to get a better look outside.

"It's gonna be hot today," she commented. "Sun's already high in the sky and letting out the funky light you only get on hot days."

Resuming her off-key humming, Erin stepped into a pair of short jean shorts, pulled on a gray tank top. Her tattoo showed only at the edges, writing hidden from view again.

"What's it say?"

"Huh?" Erin glanced over her shoulder at Ross, a hairbrush clenched in one hand.

"The writing on your tattoo. What does it say?" Ross repeated, gesturing towards Erin's shoulder blade.

"_The Ravenous_," Erin answered, her reply hesitant, curt. "Now, um, do you want to stand in the bathroom while I take my morning shit, or are you okay standing in the bedroom?"

Ross waved her away, still stunned by the woman's coarse and brusque language. The Ravenous, he thought, watching her as she slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. _An old team, _The Ravenous, _trouble…who _is_ this chick?_

The toilet flushed, and Erin emerged, hair pulled back into a loose, lazy braid, all traces of sleep washed from her face. She tossed her brush onto the bed, stooped down and tugged on her boots, lacing them on tight. As she brushed by Ross, she grabbed the thin sunglasses on the table beside the door, hooked it on the front of her shirt. Ross shut the bedroom door behind her, made his rounds through the house, feeling, indeed, like a bodyguard, and hastened down the steps, ears picking up Erin's determined stride across the wooden floor. He sensed she was creating the loud sounds on purpose, just to alert him of her position in the house. For that, Ross was grateful – it made the surveillance just a tad bit easier. He heard the crinkle of plastic just as his feet reached the last step, along with the faint jingle of keys and the scuffing of boots.

"Can I walk?" Erin called from the kitchen, shutting one of the cupboards.

"What?"

"Well, it's a stupid idea to ride a motorcycle with pancakes your lap, don't you think?" Erin stepped into the adjoining hallway, fixed Ross with an intrigued stare. "I like to walk every morning. Please, don't fuck my routine up. I really like those walks."

Ross was tempted to argue. An odd weariness settled between his shoulders, however, preventing him from opening his mouth. He nodded his head, stepped into the garage, Erin hurrying before him. He slung himself over the motorcycle, revved up the engine as the woman opened the garage door and stepped into the early morning, the brisk, dewy breeze caressing her cheeks and flicking up askew hairs on her head. She tilted her head back, eyes closed, face turned to the sky. Ross backed the motorcycle out of the garage slowly, a puzzled look threatening to etch itself into his features permanently. Solemnity settled into Erin's features, her lips moving slightly, ever so slightly. For a full two minutes she stood there, praying to the sky.

"My morning routine," she explained, once she had relaxed and glanced at Ross's quizzical gaze. "Doesn't mean I'm religious, though. I got too much of that when I was young."

And off she went, taking long, leisurely strides, covering a surprising amount of ground despite her five-foot-four frame. Ross waited until she was well ahead of him before rolling the motorcycle down the sloped driveway and guiding it onto the asphalt. He rode at a moderate pace, one slower than usual, one eye on the road, the other on Erin. The woman hefted the bag of pancakes in one hand, maple syrup in another. Head held high, she waved to the occasional neighbor, offered pretty smiles to many she passed. A dog nipped at her heels, tail wagging, eager to play. Erin laughed, took a moment to scratch the dog behind the ears.

"Now, you go back to your owner, okay?" Ross heard Erin say to the dog. "We can play another day."

The dog barked, and Erin went onward. The shop loomed into view. Erin threw her shoulders back, head still poised confidently, and strode in through the garage, Ross zipping up behind her and parking his bike next to the others. As she approached the cluster of men, Gunner elbowed Toll Road awake, grunting, "She's here," and Hale jabbed his finger into Yang's side. Tool, perched on his tattoo seat, stood up, gave Erin a big grin.

"Heya, pretty lady," he said. "Whatcha got there?"

"Breakfast," Erin replied, setting the plastic bag onto a nearby table. "Ross made pancakes."

"Ross?" Hale cried. "Made _pancakes_!"

"I was hungry for something decent," Ross growled, glaring at the men's astonished faces. "She had pancake batter in the pantry. I didn't want to pass up a good opportunity."

"You can cook?" Gunner asked, eyebrows arched in surprise; Ross nodded.

"The pancakes are excellent," Erin said, revealing the towering stack of fluffy pancakes. She removed a set of paper plates, plastic knives and forks, and napkins.

The moment she peeled the Ceram wrap from the plate, the men were on their feet in an instant, clustering close around her for various reasons. Even Yang hurried to the table, mouth watering as the warm, tantalizing smell of the pancakes wafted underneath his nose. Erin laughed and distributed plates and napkins, greedily coveting the plate of food until the men, aside from Tool and Ross, had utensils in their hands.

"Got your hands washed?" she asked; the boys looked at her in disbelief. She chuckled. "Just kidding."

"Save me some big ones, hot stuff!" Tool exclaimed, turning to Ross. "How was it?"

"How was what?"

"Last night. How was last night?"

"I got some info on her."

"Oh? Like what?"

"I'll tell you later." Ross waved the man off. "Go eat your pancakes."

As Erin heaped the food onto each man's plate, Christmas drove his bike into the garage, tugged his helmet off, and looked up to see the cluster of men laughing and cussing good-naturedly. Lee dismounted the motorcycle hesitantly, edging around the men to reach Ross. The smell of the pancakes tickled his senses, and his stomach growled audibly, his mouth watering. Ross couldn't help but chuckle at the look of confusion on Christmas's face.

"I made pancakes," he explained to the Brit.

"Where's Erin?"

"In the middle of that."

"What?" Christmas turned to the churning mass of large men, caught a glimpse of a braid. "They're not eating _her_ alive, are they?"

Ross shook his head. "She'd probably bite their fingers off before they'd get a chance." He glanced at the men as they left the table one by one, plates heaped high with pancakes drenched in syrup. "Feeling better, Lee?" he asked, noting the relaxation that had settled somewhat into Christmas's face.

"A bit, yeah." Christmas rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Erin for a moment as she plopped a few pancakes onto an empty paper plate and drizzled syrup on them. "I slept some."

"Good." Ross punched Lee lightly on the shoulder. "Don't you dare go crazy on me, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry. I'm not there yet."

"You look hungry."

Christmas turned to look at Erin, who had spoken up from beside him. She offered him a soft smile, one eyebrow raised as if daring Lee to challenge her statement. She lifted the plate of pancakes towards him.

"Ross made pancakes," she said. "They're pretty damn good. Do you want some?"

Christmas took the plate from Erin's hands, their fingertips brushing slightly. Throat tightening, he felt the odd anger rising up in his chest, threatening to explode out of him as a never-ending string of cusswords and blasphemies.

"Um, thanks," he managed to say.

"You're welcome."

"Heya, gorgeous, is that a tat I see?"

Erin laughed, rolled her eyes, glanced at Ross. "Oh, boy, here it comes." She left Ross and Christmas to talk and eat, sauntering over to Tool. "Yes, Tool, it's a tat."

"And you didn't even fucking tell me you had one!" Tool shook his head, swallowed his mouthful of pancake. "I was hoping you had virgin skin!"

"Yeah, well, it's the only one I got." Erin shrugged, smirked.

"Well, come on!" Tool waved at her with his hand. "If you got it, you gotta show it!"

Erin rolled her eyes again, faced her back to Tool. Gunner, Toll Road, and Hale shifted in their seats, craning to get a better look. Erin pulled down the straps of her tank top and bra, revealing the wolf tattoo. Tool let out a low whistle, snatched up his glasses, perched them on his nose. He hurried over to Erin and began admiring the tat, his fingers delicately tracing the outline of the two wolves. He squinted, let out another low whistle, setting the other boys on edge. Hale nearly slipped off the edge of his seat, so hard was he straining to see the tattoo.

"Where'd you get this done?" Tool asked, tapping the tat.

"No place special," Erin replied, shrugging.

"This guy…" Tool shook his head, a third and final low whistle slipping past his lips. "The guy who did this is one helluva fucking artist!"

Ross shook his head inwardly at Tool's amazement and enthusiasm. Beckoning to Yang, he pulled Christmas aside, dropped his voice even as Tool interrogated Erin in hopes of determining the name of her tattoo artist. Yang swallowed the last of his pancake, tossed his plate down, hurried over to join Ross and Christmas.

"She belonged to an old team," Ross stated, glancing between Christmas and Yang.

"You're shitting me." Lee's gaze darted to Erin briefly; he shook his head. "You've got to be kidding me."

"That tattoo," Ross continued, drawing Christmas's attention back, "is the logo for her old team. _The Ravenous_ is written right below the tat." He turned to Yang. "Did you look to see if she was part of another merc team?"

"It would've come up on the listing," Yang answered. "It automatically – wait." The Asian thought hard for a moment, mind concentrated on the barebones of the directory. "The directory automatically lists the merc teams in the _state_, not the country."

"She said she just moved here recently," Lee pointed out. "Could she be from out of state, then?"

"Possible." Yang nodded his head, eyed Erin out of the corner of his eye. "She doesn't sound like she's from the South or from the east coast," he muttered. "She doesn't have a foreign accent…she could be from Washington or Nevada…maybe even Arizona or Utah."

"Find out where she's from." Ross paused, listened to Erin mention something obscene, both unnerved and oddly pleased by the raucous laughter that burst out from the men. "Maybe we'll get more information on her."

Yang turned to go to the computer.

"Find out what happened to _The Ravenous_," Ross added, his voice just loud enough for Yang to hear. "I want names, a full history, everything."

The Asian nodded his head, disappeared into the back of the shop. Christmas looked down at the plate of pancakes in his hand and tentatively forked some into his mouth. His head bobbed in approval, and once he swallowed, he poked Ross's shoulder with the plastic fork.

"These are really good," he said, cutting off another slice of pancake to eat. "I didn't know you could cook."

"You never asked." Ross dipped a finger into Lee's pool of syrup, licked the sticky sweetness off his fingertip. "It's your turn tonight."

"For what?"

"Surveillance."

"Shit." Christmas, tempted to fling his plate of pancakes across the room, restrained himself, exhaled heavily. "I'm not making her any goddamn breakfast."

"Maybe she'll make you some," Ross suggested. "She says she can't cook, though."

"I wouldn't eat her cooking anyway." Christmas swallowed the rest of his pancakes, grimaced at the puddle of maple syrup still left on his plate.

"Give it." Ross took the plate from Christmas's hands. Saying nothing further, he lifted the plate to his lips, tipped it up, and drank the syrup that oozed off the Styrofoam. "It's the best part of having pancakes and waffles," he said, handing the empty plate to Christmas. "I'll watch her for the rest of the day, but you get her for the night and the rest of tomorrow."

Still recovering from the mixture of surprise and disgust that had risen in his chest, Lee snapped, "Fine," and glanced down at the plate, wondering how the older man had downed the syrup without anything to accompany it.

"What if I gave you and Christmas matching tats?" Tool exclaimed suddenly, eyes alight with a mischievous fire. "It'd be a fucking masterpiece! I'd paint half of the tat on you and the other half on Christmas, so you could only see the whole thing when you guys put your arms together or something. Ha!"

Christmas pivoted around wildly. "Hell no!"

"Hell yes," Tool countered, lips stretched into a smile. "I could paint '_Hell No_' on you guys. You could have the 'No,' and hot stuff here could have 'Hell.' It'd be perfect!"

"Do you really want a knife up your ass, Tool?"

"If it means getting a tat on the both of your bodies, hell yes."


	6. The Ravenous and Throwing Knives

"_The Ravenous_ is an obscure team," Yang informed Ross, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Erin wasn't anywhere near. "I guess you could call them a vulture merc team. They picked up whatever jobs other mercs rejected, or finished jobs that some mercs had started and couldn't finish. The search picked up some names, but I couldn't find them anywhere else. _The Ravenous_ is literally off the charts. Except for a few teams who have heard of them, they don't exist, and neither do the people."

"What about Erin?" Christmas asked, perched on the edge of the computer desk. "Did she show up?"

"Yes." Yang brought up a page, revealing a fuzzy snapshot of Erin and some information.

"Oh my God." Lee squinted at the screen. "Is she wearing a bikini?"

Ross leaned in closer, unable to help himself. "Looks like it."

"Again, no age," Yang said, scrolling down the page to hide Erin's picture. "All it says is that she joined _The Ravenous_ when she was young."

"And they didn't say how young?" Ross asked, pulling up a chair to relax in.

Yang shook his head. "She was their knife expert. However, the team was big: eight mercs in total, not including Erin. All of them were men."

"Nine mercs." Lee shook his head, a low whistle escaping his throat. "What the hell happened to them?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" Ross leaned forward, propped his elbows on the table. "Something must've happened to them, Yang!"

"Whatever it was, nobody knows about it." Yang sighed. "Like I said, they practically don't exist. They surfaced on the radar enough to attract attention. Three years ago, they dropped off the face of the planet. Nobody has seen or heard of them since, including _The Ravenous_'s regular contacts."

"You said you found names," Ross said, frowning. "And you can't find them?"

"They could be aliases," Christmas suggested. "I still think 'Erin Frey' is an alias." Lee glanced at Ross over Yang's head. "Think _The Ravenous_ got into deep shit and disappeared?"

Ross shook his head. "I don't think so. Yang would've found information when he searched the names."

"By the directory's listings and DMV records, the men in _The Ravenous_ are nonexistent." Yang gestured to the open window on the screen. "I don't think their names are aliases, either. Somebody erased them from public record."

"What about Erin?" Christmas craned his neck over Yang's head, catching a glimpse of Erin on the other side of the shop. "She showed up."

"I'm confused about that," Yang admitted. "I don't know what to say. _The Ravenous_ has no record anywhere. There's not even a single paper trail from any of its members. Even Erin is practically nonexistent. Until she moved her, she wasn't on record, either. Not since three years ago."

"I'd say to check newspapers to see about some unusual deaths, but _The Ravenous_ probably won't show up because it's a merc team," Ross said. He passed a hand over his face, rubbed his eyes, shoulders sagging with weariness and frustration. "Three years ago. Did we hear about anything big three years ago?"

Christmas scratched his head, kneaded his jaw with the knuckles of two fingers. "There was that big Iraq assignment." He shrugged. "We didn't hear anything about it after we turned it down, though."

"Somebody picked it up, I'm sure," Yang said.

"Yeah," Ross muttered, eyes wandering towards the front of the shop, voice dropping. "Somebody like _The Ravenous_."

"She's listed as Erin Frey Ludolf," Yang said, indicating to the screen. "I tried looking for her under Erin Ludolf, but that didn't bring up anything at all."

Yang scrolled up to the top of the page. The three men stared at the picture of Erin in a bikini. Ross slowly scanned the fuzzy contours of her body, eyes lingering on her thighs. Christmas, too, found himself more or less ogling the woman's body, from what he could tell. Back facing three-quarters to the camera, head turned to look over her shoulder at something in the distance, the smile that radiated off Erin's face was carefree. Shoulders relaxed, body held in an aloft manner, she was the image of unburdened youth. The tattoo stood out clearly on her shoulder, a dark contrast to her light olive skin. Her hair had been cut short; it brushed the top of her shoulders, a mass of congealed curls and ringlets.

"Her hair's longer," Christmas noted aloud.

"Do you know when this photo was taken?" Ross turned to Yang, nearly tapped the screen with his finger.

"Let me see…" Yang's fingers flew over the keyboard, the clacking loud and grating on Ross and Lee's ears. "This was taken about six years ago. At least, that's what it says."

"So, let's just say she's twenty-five," Christmas said, tearing his gaze away from the photograph. "She would've been nineteen in that picture, and she's already got the tat."

"She was already on the team," Ross muttered. "She would've had to have been on the team for at least six months, maybe a year, before they let her get the tat. She must've proven herself."

"But if it took her a year, then she started when she was eighteen," Yang pointed out. "That's highly unlikely."

"True." Lee gestured at Ross. "You didn't start until you were thirty or so, right?"

"Something like that."

"And I started when I was thirty-two. The same goes for everyone else. We didn't start out really young. We were thirty, at least, when we took our first jobs." Christmas sighed. "You've got to have the date wrong, Yang."

Yang shook his head. "No, it says, 'June fifteenth, two-thousand-four.' Six years ago."

They fell silent, eyes drawn back to the picture of the younger Erin. She wasn't shrouded by the mysteriousness that the men were already well aware of. There were no lies; her face was smooth, the lines that marred her features in present-day nonexistent in 2004. Laughter twinkled in her eyes, created the only creases in her face. The tattoo on her shoulder was still red around the edges.

"That isn't Erin, is it?"

"Yeah, Tool – in two-thousand-four," Christmas answered.

Tool squinted at the screen, slipped on his glasses for clarity. "One hell of a body," he murmured. "Betcha it was her birthday."

"What makes you say that?" Yang asked, peering up at the tattoo artist.

"That tattoo is only a few hours old. In fact, she probably had some beach party and was dragged to a tat shop as a birthday present."

"The fifteenth is tomorrow."

Yang and Christmas focused on Ross, whose gaze had dropped to the table, eyes staring hard at the grain of the wood. He looked up at the two men.

"June fifteenth is tomorrow," he repeated. "If it's her birthday, it's also the day she was accepted into _The Ravenous_, according to Tool."

"Hey, I know an hour-old tat when I see one." Tool removed his glasses, passed a hand through his stringy, graying hair. "So, do we get to throw her party tomorrow, or what?"

"Lay off," Lee involuntarily snapped. "If she mentions it, then, yeah, you can do whatever the hell you want. Otherwise, don't say a fucking word."

"If she's been on another team," Tool said, glancing at all three men, "she knows the drill. She probably knows you're doing background checks and everything. She doesn't look like she's sweating it or anything."

"The best liars are the ones who convince everyone they're innocent," Christmas countered.

Yang clicked out of the window, turned the computer's monitor off. Ross passed a hand over his face, leaned back in his chair. He glanced at Christmas, noted the hardened expression on the younger man's features.

"Tool!" Erin wove her way through the parked motorcycles, approached the former mercenary. "You interested in a round of knife-throwing?"

"With you?"

"You bet."

"Count me in." Tool looked over his shoulder. "Why don't you join us, Christmas?"

"I'll pass," the Brit grumbled, staring at Erin with unblinking eyes.

"Please, Christmas?" Erin asked. "I'll even let you try out one of my babies."

With a slow sensuality, one that Ross identified as natural and unnoticed by her, Erin removed a knife from her pants. The men, enraptured, eyed the blade as it came free from beneath her waistband, the sleek, black metal winking coyly in the fading light of the late afternoon. She spun the knife in her hand, finger hooked through the hole formed by the letter 'O' in the SOG logo. It whizzed around her finger, becoming a black blur. Christmas found himself standing on his feet, eyes locked on the blade.

_That is one sexy blade_, he thought to himself, letting his eyes wander back to Erin's face.

"Please?" Erin asked again, an expression close to pleading in her gaze. The knife came to an abrupt stop in her palm, her hand grasped around the blade itself; she tapped Tool on the shoulder with the knife's handle. "Shall we?"

Tool and Erin started towards the other end of the shop, focused on the knife-board on the wall. After a brief moment of consideration, Lee followed. He slid out one of his knives, tossed it up into the air, caught it by the handle. Erin glanced over her shoulder, saw Christmas. She offered him one of her pretty smiles, a genuine one, and beckoned him closer. The three knife-throwers lined up a fair distance away from the knife-board, each playing with their favorite knife.

"Hell yes!" Hale leapt to his feet, clapped his hands together. "Toll Road! Gunner! Here we go, man! We got a competition!"

"This'll be good," Ross muttered to Yang, nudging the Asian. "Let's see how they do."

"Tool's gonna own your asses," Toll Road said, face splitting into a harsh grin. He unconsciously touched his cauliflower ear as he and the rest of the men clustered around the knife-throwers.

"Nah, Erin's gonna own _our_ asses!" Hale exclaimed; he clapped his hands together again, hopped from one foot to the other impatiently. "Come on, come on, let's get started, baby!"

"Patience, Hale, patience," Erin cooed, laughing. "Easy does it." She turned to Tool and Christmas, cast a bemused glance at Ross, eyes locking briefly. "Who's first?"

"Ladies first." Tool bowed away from Erin.

"Uh-uh. I don't ever go first," Erin said, shaking her head. "But since you offered, Tool, let's see what you got."

"If you say so." The tattoo artist faced the knife-board, stared hard at it for a moment. Inhaling deeply, he let his knife fly, arm and wrist snapping forward. The blade thudded into the board, quivered in place. The eye, the eye – he always hit the eye. Tool shrugged, turned to Erin and Christmas. "Do better," he challenged. "I dare you."

Erin faced Christmas, eyebrows arched. "Shall I?" she offered.

"Nah, I've got it." Christmas stepped forward, flipped the knife into the air, caught it by the handle. He focused on the board, told himself, _You can do better. You always do better. Tool's got nothing on you_.

"Come on, Lee," Gunner's deep voice rumbled. "Don't be a pussy."

"Yeah, 'cause you get enough of those," Hale quipped, bursting into laughter.

"That hurt," Toll Road stated dryly, wincing on behalf of Gunner, laughing. "That definitely hurt."

"Just 'cause my arm's still fucked up doesn't mean I don't get any chicks," Gunner growled. "I'm up to my knees in pussy."

"Yeah, and Tool's up to his fucking chin," Hale countered.

"Hear-hear!" Tool cried; everyone spluttered into laughter, and a wide grin split across Christmas's face. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes meeting Erin's. Her head cocked to the right, a tender, grateful smile touching her lips.

"I think that's the first time I've ever seen you smile," she murmured just loud enough for Lee to hear.

Ross glanced between the two knife-throwers, noting the smile on Erin's face, the fading grin on Christmas's. He felt his chest swell with feelings he hadn't felt in a long time. Christmas tore his gaze away from Erin, her words echoing loud and clear in his ears, bouncing around in his head. He felt something inside constrict, breath growing short.

"Come on, brother," Tool cooed, regaining his composure. "Better toss that knife. We don't have all day."

Christmas exhaled, stared up at the board from beneath his eyebrows. "Watch and learn, Tool," he said.

The knife flew from his hand, sliced through the air with deadly precision. The blade embedded itself above the skull's nose, smacked into the board with powerful force. Gunner let out his deep, rumbling laugh, turned to Hale with a look of contempt on his face. Hale glared at him.

"Beat that," Christmas challenged, turning to Erin.

"My pleasure." Erin smirked, rolled her shoulders. She tossed her knife in the air, let the handle bounce off her forearm, grabbed the knife, let it spin in her hand. Her eyes stared at the board, unblinking, almost unfocused. "Step aside, boys," she said, her voice detached, quiet but firm.

Ross and Christmas shared a glance of intrigue, Lee's eyebrow arched high on his eye. Ross shrugged, cocked his head, looked back at Erin. All the men around her fell silent, hardly breathing. The SOG knife slowed to a stop, settled into the palm of Erin's hand. She rolled her shoulders again, her eyes still oddly unfocused.

"For Pretty-Boy and the rest of those wonderful bastards," she murmured under her breath.

And the knife dug into the knife-board, half of the blade stuck in the nose of the skull. Christmas and Tool staggered backward in unison, blinking furiously.

"Shit!" Christmas exclaimed.

"Did you fucking _see_ that?" Hale cried, fist pumping the air; Gunner and Toll Road shook their heads, frowning.

"No, we didn't fucking see it," Gunner snapped. "I'm not even sure she threw it!"

Ross met Christmas's astonished gaze. The Brit passed a hand over his face, trying to wipe the stunned expression from his eyes. Tool removed his cowboy hat, used it to fan his flustered face. The men stared at the black knife, finally turned their eyes to Erin. Frozen in position, arm still poised, the young woman exhaled, blinked. Her rigid body relaxed slightly, her arm slowly lowering, falling back to her side. Erin shifted her weight to her heels, shook her head, cracked her neck. An expression of wounded feeling, close to regret, passed over her face. Only Ross, Christmas, and Tool noticed the flickering look, the remorse that flickered in Erin's pupils.

"I win," she said, her voice still detached. "Do you still want to try out my blade?" she asked Christmas, her eyes swimming back into focus. She removed another SOG knife, this time from her boot. "I don't mind."

"Not today," Lee managed to say, struggling to recover from the shock. "Maybe later."

"'Kay." Erin forced a smile on her face, hurrying to conceal the crack in her mask. She turned to the boys. "You're welcome, Hale," she told the black man. "Next time, I expect to see some kind of profit."

"Fuck yes!"

"That's not fair!" Toll Road cried. "We hardly saw her throw it. How do we know she didn't rig the fucking board or something?"

"I'm pretty sure she threw it," Gunner admitted, wincing. "Fuck, that hurt. Looks like you've got a title to earn back, Christmas."

"No shit," the Brit muttered, falling against a table to support himself. "Talk about owning our asses."

"Hey, she can own my ass for all I care." Tool smirked, his own astonishment fading from his features. "I'll fucking tattoo her name on my ass if I have to."

"I'd like to see that," Erin laughed, making her way to the knife-board. She yanked her knife out of the wood, did the same with Tool's and Lee's knives. She handed the weapons back, glanced at all the men. "I'm hungry. How 'bout you guys?"

"Starved," Hale said.

"Same here," Toll Road said.

"How does Chinese sound?" Erin grinned and glanced at Yang. The Asian rolled his eyes.

"Why do I always get picked on?" he asked no one in particular. "Very funny."

"I was in the mood for pizza and beer anyway," Erin said, playfully punching Yang on the shoulder. "Trust me, I won't make too much fun of you. We short people have to stick together."

"Haha."

"You're welcome. What kind of pizza do you guys want?"

"Sausage," Gunner said.

"Pepperoni," Ross added quietly.

"Nah, nah, nah." Tool shook his head. "How 'bout some anchovies?"

"Oh, God, Tool, not again!" Hale groaned, the others groaning in unison. Despite being unnerved, Christmas chuckled under his breath. "You and your fucking anchovies."

"Hey, they're good for the heart, brother," Tool said, laughing.

"I'll work something out." Erin grinned and sauntered away to the telephone.

"Let's go break out the beer." Hale tugged Gunner and Toll Road along, heading for the fridge stocked with cold beer.

"She's pro," Tool stated, turning to Christmas and Ross. "Definitely pro."

"No kidding," Christmas muttered, shaking his head. "And I have to watch _that_ tonight? She _could_ kill me in my sleep!"

"Oh, come on, Lee, don't be a pussy." Tool clapped Lee on the shoulder, grinned. "She's practically harmless."

"At home, she is," Ross added. He glanced at the knife-board. "You can take her, Christmas. You just got to get your head on straight. That's the only hard part about being your friend."

"What? That I'm a crooked head or something?"

"Something like that."

"What I want to know," Yang spoke up from behind the trio, "is who Pretty-Boy is."

Ross looked at Christmas. "That's your job tonight."

"Like she'll tell me," Christmas muttered.

"You're a Brit," Tool said. "You've got an accent. Women love the accent."

"Yeah, show her some charm," Ross said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "She'll like that."

Christmas shook his head. "You are one helluva bastard, you know that?"

"Hey, it takes one to know one, brother," Tool said.

Christmas laughed, smile spread wide on his face. "No shit."


	7. Sweat, Blood, and Tears

"To _The Expendables_!"

The men clinked their beer bottles together. Hale let out a roar of excitement, raised the beer bottle to his lips, downed a quarter of the scalding liquid. Erin, perched on the edge of Tool's tattoo chair, grinned, watched each man in turn take a gulp of their beer. She took a sip from her bottle, enjoyed the feeling of the liquid slide down her throat, burn the tissue. She picked up the slice of pepperoni pizza on her lap, took a large bite, cheese and sauce warm and delicious. Gunner and Toll road edged away from Tool as the tattoo artist lifted his slice of pizza with anchovies piled excessively on the top.

"Ain't nothing to be afraid of, boys," Tool laughed. "Fish is good!"

Hale crammed his slice of sausage pizza into his mouth, ravenous. Only Yang, Christmas, and Ross seemed to have enough dignity to eat like gentlemen. Even Erin ate like a pig as she shoved pizza into her mouth.

Night had slowly begun to descend on the day, pushing its way across the sky, forcing the sun to slide behind the horizon, extinguished by the blackness of the evening, the moon rising up to take the sun's place. Tool had opened the garage door to let the cool night air in; it wafted in unheeded, cooling the faces of the excited men. Erin leaned back in the chair, enjoying the breeze, allowed it to caress her face, mess with her hair. A soft smile touched her lips. Her eyes fluttered close, listened to the conversations around her. Christmas couldn't help but stare at the woman, slowly and ineffectively chewing his pizza. A Brit by nature, the American pizza tasted sourer than normal and stuck in his throat when he swallowed. Only the beer appealed to his taste buds.

_Wish I had some German beer_, he thought, smirking to himself. _That's the good stuff._

"She looks sad," Ross commented, voice low behind Lee's shoulder; the younger man turned to the leader.

"How so?" he asked, taking a sip of his beer.

Ross shrugged. "I don't know." He paused, gazed at Erin's face for a moment. "Look at the way her eyes are. They're almost squeezed shut, don't you think?"

"Yeah, that's fair, but still. She looks peaceful."

"You aren't a people person, are you, Lee?" Ross shook his head. "Really _look_ at her. Her smile is sad, and she looks like she's about to frown. She's tense."

"Maybe that's why she wanted the beer," Christmas muttered, eating the last of his pizza. "To relax."

"I don't like it."

"And you say _I'm_ picky."

"You _are_."

"Whatever you say." Lee chuckled, settled down on a motorcycle seat. "You're just a bloody bastard, that's all."

"And you're a fucking prick."

"Only if you tattoo 'bloody bastard' on your forehead."

"Then you get 'fucking prick' on your ass."

The two men laughed, grins stretching wide across their faces, eyes twinkling brightly. Ross passed a hand through his hair, scratched the back of his head.

"I should cut my hair," he said, rubbing his jaw. "It's getting long. Next thing you know, I'll look like fucking Rambo."

"Rambo would look better," Christmas countered. "He's younger."

"He's fucking imaginary."

"He's fucking spectacular. He'd own our asses any day."

Ross paused. Then, "Rambo's fucking old now, though. He's like – what? – sixty or something?"

"I'd be careful." Christmas smirked at the older man. "You're getting up there yourself."

"No kidding."

"Hale! Toss me another one, would you?" Erin called, cracking open one eye. "I'm empty here!"

Hale lobbed the beer bottle over Yang's head. "Catch!"

"Thanks!" Erin caught the bottle, popped off the lid with the heel of her hand. She gulped the drink greedily, wincing as the scalding drink rushed down her throat and into her stomach. Sighing, she closed her eyes again, stretched out on the seat.

"The only way we can tell if she's good," Christmas began, "is if we land a job sometime soon."

"Then let's hope we get one," Ross muttered. "Something easy and low-key this time around. I don't want to go through Vilena again."

"I second that." Christmas rubbed a hand over his fuzzy, balding head. "Did you fix your truck, by the way?"

"It took a while, but, yeah, it's fixed." Ross took a long swig from his beer. "Bullet-proof glass is fucking expensive. I nearly paid an arm and a leg."

"I can imagine." Lee set his beer aside, his gaze falling on Erin's reclined body once more. "Still got Sandra's drawing in that car?"

Ross nodded, face growing solemn. "I'm glad we helped her out."

"Ever gonna see her again?"

"Maybe." Ross rubbed his eyes wearily, rolled his shoulders. "I don't know anymore."

"Personally, I don't think she's your time."

"Oh, shut up."

Christmas chuckled, drank another quarter of his beer. "So, you really think Erin'll tell me who Pretty-Boy is?"

"Probably. She told me what the tattoo stood for." Ross shifted his weight on the table, picked up the crust of his pizza, nibbled on the end. "She'd probably give you some answers if you ask nicely." He rolled his eyes over to the younger man, looking pointedly at him.

"What? I can be nice."

"You better hope so. If I hear anything bad tomorrow, I'll fucking hurt you."

"Touchy, touchy." Christmas tutted, shook his head. "I won't do anything so long as she doesn't try to kill me."

"Don't worry. You can take her."

"I'm not so sure about that."

"_The hell you don't!_" Erin screamed.

Everyone stiffened, pivoted around to face Erin. The woman leapt to her feet, black knife arcing through the air. It zipped past the man standing at the garage door, just barely clipping his shoulder. Eyes widening in fear, he took off, Erin racing through the shop after him. She slid out onto the gravel, skidded, nearly slammed into sidewalk on the other side of the street. Elbows and hands scraped, she flung another knife after the man. He ducked, darted around the corner, the knife clattering harmlessly onto the street.

"Get back here asshole!" Erin cried, sprinting after him.

Christmas and Ross were outside in an instant as Erin rounded the corner, running full speed.

"Around back!" Ross shouted to Christmas, following Erin.

"On it!"

Christmas circled around the building, turned the corner too fast, slammed his shoulder into the concrete. "Fuck!" he cried, nearly tripping on a curb. The night swirled around him, punctuated by the hazy streetlights. Christmas hurried forward, rounded another corner. He heard Erin shouting, heard her footsteps hot in pursuit ahead of him. A figure ran straight at him, glancing over its shoulder, back at Erin.

"I don't think so." Lee swung his arm out, caught the man in the neck.

The man flipped, smashed into the ground, a cry of surprise ripping from his throat. Erin skidded around the corner, nearly lost her balance, knife in hand. The man twisted, kicked the back of Christmas's leg, brought him to the ground. Fist connecting with Christmas's jaw, the man clawed at his skin, struggled out of Lee's grasp. Erin came up behind him, yanked the man off Christmas, kneed him in the stomach. She shoved him to his knees, hooked her arms around his neck, squeezed. He gagged, spluttered, fought against her, drawing blood with his nails.

"I ain't done nothing!" he screamed. "Nothing, man, nothing! Lemme go!"

Erin jerked her torso, pulled the man's neck into an unnatural position. He yelled, tears of pain streaming down his face. Ross skidded to a halt behind Erin, breathing heavy, heart pounding against his ribs, threatening to break out of his chest.

"Who sent you?" Erin bellowed, spittle spraying onto the man's face.

Ross and Christmas glanced at each other, both equally perplexed and disturbed. The man shook his head, said, "Nobody! Ain't nobody sent me!"

Erin tightened her arms around his neck, glanced up at Lee. "Punch him," she said, eyes blazing. "_Now_."

Christmas landed a blow to the man's solar plexus, knocking what little breath the man had out. The man gasped for breath, pulled on Erin's arms, drawing more blood; it dripped off Erin's wounds, streaked the man's face. Beads of perspiration broke out on Erin's forehead, face tightened into an expression of pain, disgust, and hatred. Her knee found the soft spot of the man's back, connected with the tender muscles. The man screamed again, voice dying in his throat, gurgled.

"Tell me who sent you!" Erin roared, her voice deepening to an unnatural volume.

The man threw himself forward, yanking Erin off her feet. Ross and Christmas leapt at him simultaneously, landed on Erin instead. A boot connected with Ross's nose, drawing blood; a fist slammed into Christmas's skull, white spots bursting in his vision. Erin forced the men off her, snatched at the man's jeans. He kicked her arm, her face, took off, gasping. Erin and the two other mercs scrambled to their feet, Erin after the man like a shot. A car skidded onto the street. The man threw himself into its open window, body hanging out as the car sped off, leaving Erin in the dust. She stopped in the middle of the street, the car disappearing around the corner, long gone. Ross and Christmas hurried to Erin's side.

"Who the fuck was that?" Christmas shouted at Erin.

"Fuck," Erin responded. She stormed over to the nearest building, kicked the wall viciously, a deep yell ripping from her throat. "_Fuck!_"

"Did you hear me? Who the fuck was that?"

"Bad fucking news!" Erin barked, nostrils flaring.

"_Hey!_" Ross's voice overpowered both Christmas's and Erin's shouting. They turned to him, both shaking with fury. "This isn't the place to talk about it."

Erin shook her head, fighting to catch her breath. She passed a hand over her face, unknowingly smearing blood all over her features, and headed back to the shop, picking up her knives along the way. Tool and the other mercs waited for her at the entrance to the garage, looks of confusion and horror etched deeply into their expressions. They gasped as Erin stepped into the light, revealing the bump on her forehead, the blood all over her face and arms.

"Holy shit!" Tool rushed forward. "What the fuck happened?"

"I'm drunk, that's what!" Erin snapped, wavering on her feet. "I got my ass kicked!"

"No shit," Hale said dryly.

"Fuck." Gunner nudged Toll Road, gestured to Ross and Christmas. "You guys alright?"

"Does it look like we're alright?" Christmas stumbled into the shop, nursing his wounded shoulder and sore jaw. He turned on Erin, eyes flashing. "You've got some serious explaining to do!"

"Let's get cleaned up first," Ross said, tugging Lee away fiercely. "Tool, take care of Erin."

"Come here, baby girl." Tool led the girl aside, sat her down on his tattoo chair.

Erin glanced down at her bloody forearms, winced. "Shit," she muttered, taking note of the extent of the damage. "He had fucking Fu Manchu nails. Jesus."

Tool came back with water, bandages, and towels. He set about cleaning up the blood, cringing every time he felt Erin tense with pain. Ross and Christmas cleaned each other up nearby. Ross wiped away the blood from his nose, gently poked and prodded the cartilage. Yang came up behind him, touched his nose, shook his head.

"Not broken," he said.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Ross grumbled, exhaling heavily. "How you feeling, Christmas?"

"Peachy," Lee snapped, rubbed his jaw, touched the muscles tentatively. "It's gonna bruise."

"That's what happens when you get hit in the face," Ross stated dryly, removing his soiled and bloody shirt. "I'm getting too old for this shit."

Christmas stormed over to Erin, towered over her. "Who the fuck was that?" he repeated.

"A fucking Mexican asswipe, that's who," Erin snapped, winced as Tool applied hydrogen peroxide to her wounds. "He recognized me." She cursed under her breath. "And he fucking got away. Shit."

"What do you mean he recognized you?" Ross asked. Although as frustrated and angry as Christmas, he restrained himself and pulled up a chair next to Erin, realizing that yelling would do no good.

"He's an old contact," Erin explained, staring at the floor. "The fucker's gonna rat me out, the fucking asshole. Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_"

"Rat you out to who?" Ross forced Erin to meet his gaze.

"Anybody he comes across," Erin answered, lifting her right arm so Tool could bandage it. "Next thing you know, they're gonna be all over my ass."

"They who?"

"Old contacts and shit."

"Why would they care?" Christmas asked. "What the fuck did you do?"

Erin's lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze dropping to the floor again. Hale shifted uncomfortably on his feet, giving Yang, Toll Road, and Gunner a sideways glance. The awkward silence stretched, interrupted only by the sound of bandages being wrapped around skin. Christmas paced away from Erin, struggling to calm down and reign in his anger. Ross placed a hand on Erin's knee, drew her attention. She forced her attention to stay focused on the ground, refused to look up at Ross's kind and deploring eyes. Christmas paced back, the toes of his boot stepping into Erin's vision.

"What the fuck did you do?" he repeated, nearly yelled. "Answer me!"

"I killed my fucking team!" Erin screamed, on her feet and inches away from Lee's face. "I wasn't there when they needed me, and they all were fucking killed, that's what!" Tears spilled over her eyelids involuntarily, even as she tried to fight them. "I was the only one who lived, and I should've been there!"

A hush fell over the room. Erin looked away from Christmas's softened gaze, wiped away the tears furiously. The men traded looks between each other, unsure of what to say. Ross shot a glance at Christmas, berating the man with his gaze. Tool fiddled with the damp towel, emotion threatening to rise up in his throat as he recalled old members he had watched die in his own team. A car zoomed in the distance, engine revving hard. Erin sniffled, pressed her fist into her temple, eyes squeezed tight, images flashing in rapid succession in her mind. Blood dripped down her left arm, fell to the floor, glistened on the concrete. Her shoulder twitched, the tattoo peeking out from under the tank top strap.

"I killed them," Erin muttered, shaking her head. "They needed me, and I said no. And now they're all dead, and nobody cares. They're buried in the fucking desert somewhere, rotting away with no one to remember them but me." The tears continued, streamed down her cheeks. "Those CIA bastards wouldn't bring them back."

Ross stood to his feet, throat constricting, unable to see Erin cry. Christmas swallowed thickly, nearly reached out to wipe the tears from the woman's face. She rubbed her eyes furiously again, only agitated the tears.

"I told them no," she repeated, her voice almost inaudible. "I told them I wanted a break, that I'd catch the next job that came around. But there was no job. They didn't even make two days out there. They were blasted to pieces." Her voice cracked. "Pretty-Boy, Phil, George, Johnny, Leroy, Phantom, Teddy, Rover – they're all gone." Erin sniffled again, choked back the sobs as her next words came out. "I couldn't just go and tell their families what happened, could I? Pretty-Boy…he had a mom and twelve-year-old brother. And Teddy…his dad loved the hell outta him, even if Teddy was a forty-year-old man and his dad was eighty. What was I supposed to do? Tell Teddy's dad his son was a merc and died on the job? Tell Pretty-Boy's brother he wasn't coming back? Phil and Johnny were married. Phil had a two-year-old daughter. I ruined their lives without ever even meeting them." Erin shook her head. "I killed them."

She sagged against Christmas, shuddered as the sobs overtook her. Yang beckoned Hale, Toll Road, and Gunner to the back of the garage, hoping to grant Erin some privacy. Tool stood and followed them, fighting back his own tears. Christmas glanced at Ross helplessly, arms wrapped around Erin in an effort to support her. She cried into his chest, cussing to herself vehemently, brow creased. Ross stepped forward, placed a hand on Erin's shoulder. She relaxed under his touch, just slightly, another sob tearing from her throat. Christmas clutched her closer, felt her weight shift, became aware of her body against his. Her muscles were hard, tense and well sculpted, yet she fit into him, as if molding to his body. Sweaty and bloody as she was, she nevertheless carried an aroma of cinnamon, perhaps brown sugar. The scent tickled Lee's nose, ingrained itself into his memory. Erin's hair felt soft beneath his chin, though matted and sticky with sweat and blood.

"Erin," Ross murmured, gently pulling the woman out of Christmas's arms, "let's take you home."

She nodded, body trembling. Ross unceremoniously lifted her up into his arms, turned to Christmas.

"We can walk to her house from here," he said. "Watch my back in case we're attacked."

Lee nodded his head, followed Ross out the garage door. They walked into the cool night, the darkness enveloping them as a cloak swathes its bearer. Erin shivered in Ross's arms, mumbling incoherently to herself. The occasional car passed by, blinding the mers with its white headlights. Christmas and Ross walked in silence, each caught up within his own thoughts. Ross blanched as he recalled Erin's confession, her words. A lump lodged itself in his throat, old memories surfacing from the back of his mind. He'd lost mercs before, many of which had been dear and close friends. But never a whole team. He shuddered at the thought, glanced at Lee's stony expression. He could see the regret in the younger man's eyes, knew Christmas was wishing he hadn't pushed Erin so hard. Ross couldn't help but think, _He deserved it_.

Christmas rubbed his eyes wearily as Erin's house came into view. Ross pulled the keys from her pocket, let Lee in. They navigated through the dark garage, bumped into something covered with a tarp. Using his shoulder, Barney flipped on the switch for the hallway, nudged open the door with his foot. Lee secured everything behind him, taking in all aspects of the premises as best as he could. He went ahead of Ross, checked all the rooms, slunk up the stairs, deemed everything was safe. Ross ascended the stairs, arms straining despite Erin's light weight. He slid her onto her bed, put her keys by the bedside table, stood over her rigid form. Christmas joined his side; they both gazed down at the woman, noted her frustrated features as she fell into a fitful slumber. Ross reached down, brushed stray hairs out of her face, fingers lingering too long on her soft skin. Lee glanced at Ross, brow furrowing slightly, chest tightening as he glimpsed the peculiar look in Ross's eyes. The older man stepped away, pulled the Brit outside of the bedroom, the door clicking shut quietly behind him.

"Jesus," he said, passing a hand over his face. "The whole fucking team."

Christmas glanced at the shut door, an image of Erin screaming into his face rising in his mind. "Eight mercs," he stated, disbelief dripping from his voice. "Eight bloody mercs."

Ross shook his head, turned away. He propped his elbows on the stair banister, buried his face in his hands, shoulders sagging. "That's a lot to live with. Christ."

"And she's not coping with it well, not if she breaks down like that," Lee stated, leaning against the double doors. He closed his eyes.

"It would've been worse if she had been there and seen them die," Ross mumbled, fingers tangled in his hair. "If I lost the whole team…" He couldn't even fathom the thought.

"Ross." Christmas opened his eyes, looked at the older man. "What are we getting ourselves into?"

For a while, Barney said nothing and just stared at the ground below, following the lines of the wooden planks that made up the floor. He sighed, thought about Erin, felt his throat constrict again. Rubbing his cheek, he felt the tears that had leaked from Erin's eyes. Bitter, grievous tears.

"I don't know," he finally replied. "I think we have no choice now."

"No choice for what?"

"We'll have to keep her on the team."

"She'll only bring us trouble."

"I'm not gonna leave her like this!" Ross turned to Lee, pointed at the double doors. "I just can't! Who knows what'll happen now that her old contact knows she's alive? She could be killed! We can't let that happen."

"This isn't Sandra from the island, Barney," Christmas said. "She can protect herself. You even said so."

"It doesn't matter." Ross rubbed the back of his neck, his free hand unconsciously curling into a fist. "The boys'll be angry if she goes, anyway."

"She's a danger to the team. We can't have people recognizing her on the street and running off to tell the CIA she's a part of the team!"

"Then what are we going to do, Christmas?" Ross planted himself less than a foot away from the man, gaze unwavering. "Leave her alone and feed her to the feds? Do you want to have her death on your conscience? Huh?"

Christmas pressed his lips together, looked away. "I don't want to die for a woman," he muttered.

"You would've died for Lacy."

"I loved her – no, dammit, I _love_ her. Of course I would've died for her."

"Erin will kill herself if we don't help." Ross gripped Lee's shoulder with terrible force. "Think about her team. It's no wonder she is the way she is. Just…" Barney sighed, his brown eyes softening. "Keep her safe for tonight."

Lee nodded. Ross left him on the landing, descended down the stairs, and left the house, nearly turning back in the process. He forced himself onward, made it to the shop alive and intact. Tool came to his side, face forlorn, eyes reddened from his own tears.

"How is she?" he asked, the other men creeping closer for the answer.

"Sleeping," Ross answered.

"Barney." Tool shook his head. "Her team…"

"I know."

Christmas opened one of the double doors to Erin's bedroom, shut it behind him. He settled down into the comfy chair in the corner, eyes resting on the woman's tense form. She mumbled occasionally in her sleep, repeating names and phrases over and over, nothing but senseless garble to Lee's ears. He leaned back, forced her words out of his head, along with the images that accompanied it. Ross's voice bothered him instead, pleaded with him – commanded him – to think about Erin, to care for her. She was like him, the voice reasoned. She was like Ross. She was like all of the men combined, sent as a mirror so that each man could see himself reflected in her eyes.

Lee stood up, found himself walking over to the bed. He stopped beside it, his gaze resting on Erin's profile. His hand reached out, gently brushed Erin's cheek. His fingers trailed down her arm, curled around her hand. It fit in his like a glove, only slightly calloused in his grip. Warmth radiated from her skin to his.

"Lee."

Christmas stiffened, startled by Erin's voice, by the gentle squeeze she gave his hand.

"I forgive you," she murmured. "It wasn't your fault."

She let his hand go, turned over on her side, wiggled under the covers. In a few moments, her breathing grew shallow and light. Lee stared down at her, disbelieving. Relief flooded his chest, followed by unwarranted anger. Shaking the feelings off, he made his way back to the comfy chair, sat down. In the moonlight, he held up his hand, followed the lines on his palm with his eyes. He still felt the warmth from Erin's hand on his, felt her give him a phantom squeeze. He growled inwardly.

_I love Lacy,_ he thought, closing his eyes. _I love Lacy._


	8. Carry Us On

"Rise and shine, Lee."

Christmas's eyes fluttered open, blinking furiously to clear the bleariness from his vision. Erin leaned over him, whispered into his ear, unaware he was stirring.

"Come on," she said, lips brushing his ear, "wake up. It's eleven in the morning."

A thrill shot down Lee's spine, settled into his lower abdomen. He shivered, turned his head to look at Erin. Hardly an inch apart, all he could see were her eyes, sucking him into oblivion. Their lips brushed ever so slightly, almost like a butterfly kiss, Erin's breath caressing his skin, sending a myriad of feelings through Lee. His mouth grew dry. Erin, as though oblivious to the contact, drew back a few inches, smiled into Christmas's eyes.

"Good morning," she said. "I ordered doughnuts. Do you want some?"

"Um, doughnuts…?"

"Yeah, for breakfast. I can't cook worth a damn, and I'm not gonna learn how to anytime soon." Erin straightened, sauntered away from Christmas. "Did you know you sleep walk?" she called over her shoulder.

Lee rubbed his eyes, groaned. "What?"

"You sleep walk."

Christmas listened to Erin walk across the room, open some drawers, take some clothes out. He turned his head, watched – slightly embarrassed, mostly surprised – Erin slip out of her clothes from the day before. His eyes traced the curves of her body, admired the shape of her ass and her breasts. Erin hummed to herself, shimmied into a pair of faded jeans. The wolves on her shoulder blade rippled, the snarl from the first one seeming all the more dangerous. She pulled a loose-fitting gray long-sleeve shirt, rolled it up to the sleeves sloppily. Rolling her neck, Erin turned back to Christmas, one eyebrow arched in amusement.

"I sleep walk?" Lee managed to ask, picturing the smooth contours of Erin's thighs as they sloped up to form her hips.

"That, or you just wanted someone to snuggle," Erin stated, running a hand through her hair. "Now, breakfast. Downstairs. Bathroom's right here if you need to use it."

She was out the door before Christmas could open his mouth to speak. He sat up, glanced around. The comfy chair sat in the corner, unmoved. He felt the springiness of the bed beneath him, realized he was tangled in blankets. Lee scrambled off the bed, tumbled to the floor with a loud thud, accidentally dragged the blankets with him to the floor. Struggling to remove the blanket, he made his way into the bathroom, locked the door behind him. The face reflected in the mirror across from him was that of a horrified, astonished, and oddly pleased man. The insistent heat below his waist throbbed in excitement.

"Jesus," he gasped, shaking his head. "This is a dream. This is a dream."

He glanced down. All his clothes were still on, not a single button undone or zipper unzipped. His knives sat untouched on his hip, the familiar cold steel pressing into his skin. His feet still wore his boots, the laces tightly tied the way he had done it himself the previous morning.

_No sex_, he thought, only partially relieved.

"Sleep walk," he growled to himself, shaking his head. He relieved him, washed his hands, splashed water on his pale face. "Since when I have done _that_ before?"

He vaguely recalled a restless sleep until he had gotten up to use the restroom during the night. Had he wandered over to Erin's bed instead, in a groggy stupor that deceived him into thinking he was at home, that Erin's bed was _his_ bed?

"That's got to be it," he muttered to himself, swallowing thickly.

Hesitantly, he went down the stairs. He found Erin in the kitchen, munching away an extremely large cinnamon roll. She glanced up at him, gave him a smile peppered with cinnamon and glaze crumbs. She gestured to a seat the table, pointed to the large pink box full of a variety of doughnuts.

"Your choice," she said, swallowing the sugared bread with some difficulty. "Don't eat a lot, though. I want to bring some for the boys."

"Right," Christmas muttered, sitting down into one of the polished wooden chairs. He selected a glazed doughnut, took a bite. The sugar tickled his jaw, made his mouth water.

The two ate in silence. Erin finished off her doughnut, leaned back in her chair, content. She licked her lips, sucked off the lingering glaze and cinnamon from her fingertips. Lee ate slowly, forcing himself to stare at the pink box at the table. Images of Erin's near-naked body rose in his mind, coupled with the thought that he had slept in her bed _with her in it_ that night. He couldn't believe it, _wouldn't_ believe it. He snuck a wary glance at Erin, found her slumped in her chair, eyes closed. Her lips moved in silent prayer, reminding Lee of the brush of her lips against his. He shivered, nearly choked on his breakfast as the recollection of coming into contact with Erin's lips clouded his senses.

"Today's the fifteenth."

Christmas glanced up at Erin, swallowed the last of his doughnut. Erin still reclined in the chair, eyes closed. Lee let his gaze linger on her features, understood, at that moment, that Ross had been right – that Erin looked sad, not peaceful. She was plagued, burdened by sorrow and regret, such feelings overshadowed by her conviction of making others believe she was a smart-ass, a woman without a care in the world.

"Six years ago," Erin continued quietly, "_The Ravenous_ took me into their team. That's the day I also got the tat and made everything official." A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I had just turned nineteen."

Lee shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unsettled by the woman's frown. Yang had been wrong. Although highly unlikely, Erin _had_ joined the team young – considerably young. She was, according to Christmas's quick calculation, a decade younger than him, still young but not at all a greenhorn.

"I turn twenty-five today," Erin mumbled, more to herself than to Christmas. "Can you guess what else today is?"

"What?"

"It's the three-year anniversary of my team's slaughter." Erin sniffed, but no tears threatened to overcome her. "Today's just a day full of events. It's also the day I get truly get drunk." She opened her eyes, passed a hand over her face. "I eat all the worst shit I can find, too. Nothing but sugar for me all day." She fell silent. "The boys loved sugar…"

Christmas felt like he had stumbled into a hidden cave, one lined with crystals and secrets. He said nothing, paid close attention to Erin. She stared at the table, suddenly chuckled and shook her head, muttering, "Oh, boy, Teddy. You and Rover. Jesus."

"What job was it?" Lee heard himself ask, voice quiet, subdued.

Erin moistened her lips, glanced at Christmas. "It was an assignment in Iraq. Most mercs passed it up, said they didn't want to take it. I certainly didn't. But, hey." She shrugged. "I was the youngest on the team. What did I know? Just the ins and outs of my knives, that's all."

"Why did you turn the job down?"

"I wanted a break," Erin answered. She tapped her fingers on the table, pulled the lid down on the box of doughnuts. "I was twenty-two. Being a merc was my life. It was all I knew, and I just wanted to take a breather, just to sit back and enjoy the sunshine for a little while longer." Her lips twitched into a sad, failed half-smile. "They wanted me to go, though. Leroy…he was the oldest and the most experienced on the team. He knew skill and talent when he saw it. He begged me, almost on his knees, to go, but I said no." Erin turned and looked at Christmas straight in the eyes, locking gazes with a fierce intensity Lee was afraid to break. "I hope you and the rest of the team never experience what it feels like to lose your family. That's what they all were to me. They were the family I never had."

Erin stood up, picked the pink box up from the table. She set it on the counter, returned to the table with a towel to sweep off the crumbs. The mischievous glint that Christmas had come to recognize in her eyes was gone, replaced instead but a flatness equivalent to that of a dull blade. His heart cringed for her, pity swelling up in his chest. He fought the feeling, reminded himself that she was a threat, lost track of his thoughts. Erin swept the crumbs off the table in front of Lee, piled them in her hand, tossed them into the trash. The towel twisted and curled beneath her agitated hands.

"I hope you and Ross and Yang – all of you guys – never get to know what it feels like to wake up each morning and know you're responsible for your team's death." Erin's vision blurred slightly, but the tears still did not fall. "Every day, I wonder, 'Could I have saved them? If I had gone, would they have lived?' I'll never get to know." She sighed, rubbed the back of her neck. "I guess that's what happens when you become a merc at the age of seventeen."

Christmas moistened his lips, asked tentatively, "Is that what you wanted to be when you grew up?"

Erin laughed. "A part of me, yeah. I wanted to be, you know…someone like John McClane in the _Die Hard_ movies or Martin Riggs in _Lethal Weapon_. Not necessarily a cop, but someone who did the right thing and made the world a better place." She shrugged. "What I really wanted to be was an author."

"An author?"

"Yeah." Erin smiled softly. "I wrote like a dream. I had all these ideas, and I pounded out novel after novel. None of them were ever published, of course, but…I still have them, just to remind me of what could have been." She tossed the towel onto the counter. "Funny, how life works, huh? Being a merc wasn't something I wanted. It just sorta happened. I'd like to think I'm making the world a better place…" Again, she laughed, this time harsh and bitter. "But now, when I watch movies and the characters say that, I can't help but think, 'That's a bunch of bullshit. We can't make the world a better place.' It's just a fucking cliché that authors and directors put on their characters, just to make them seem good. 'All the world's a stage,' I suppose."

Christmas slumped against the back of his seat, overwhelmed. He frowned inwardly, feeling the pity and sympathy for Erin rising up in his throat, threatening to choke the life out of him. Erin opened the refrigerator, removed a Heineken from the door. She stared at it, debating whether or not to open it and start the first drink of the day. Lee stood up, walked over to Erin, pried the perspiring bottle from her hands. Knocking off the cap, he poured the liquid down the sink, startled by his own actions as the last of the alcohol disappeared down the drain.

"What did you want to be when you grew up?" Erin asked, unfazed.

Lee set the bottle aside, heard himself answer. "An actor," he said. "Not just in the UK, but here, too. I wanted to be in action movies, kind of like a James Bond." He saw the smirk that spread on Erin's lips. "Hey, don't laugh. A boy has a right to dream."

"James Bond," Erin muttered, chuckling in spite of herself. "James Bond isn't bald."

"I wasn't bald sixteen years ago."

Erin held her hands up, backed away. "My bad. You'd've been one helluva young Bond, though."

"That was the point."

"So all those young girls could swoon and fall at your feet?" Erin's smirk widened, the glint slowly sliding back into her pupil. "So debonair of you, Christmas." She stepped back, arced her hand in front of her as though cleaning a window. "I can just see it now. 'The new James Bond: Lee Christmas! The youngest James Bond to date!' Boy, you would've been a hit alright, and Sean Connery would've been throwing Heinekens at you while you walked down the street, stalked by a shitload of girls."

"That would've been nice."

"Ha." Erin picked up the box of doughnuts, fished her keys from her pocket. The smirk faded from her face. "What did you do instead?"

"For a living?" Lee sighed, rubbed the stubble on his balding scalp. "I was British SAS. I didn't come over to America until I was thirty. I joined _The Expendables_ two years later."

"So you've been fighting all your life, too," Erin mumbled. "Here, take this." She handed Christmas the box of doughnuts. "Let's get these puppies to the boys before they get cold."

Erin locked up the house behind Christmas and set out onto the street. Lee found himself growing mildly amused as he worked to keep up with the woman's long, leisurely strides. Her face wasn't graced with her normal smile. A soft, regretful smile tainted her lips instead, her eyes pools of deep reflection. Tool's shop came into view, teasing an anticipatory smirk out of Erin. She glanced at Lee, took the box from his hands, gestured to the garage, deploring Christmas with her eyes to open the door. He obliged, let her step inside. At least he had learned one thing from being British, or so he hoped: how to be a gentleman.

"Good morning!" Erin called out, weaving through the motorcycles. Christmas couldn't help but stare at her ass as she maneuvered through the maze.

Ross practically materialized out of the air. He placed a comforting hand on Erin's shoulder, immediately noticing the solemnity about her. She offered him a smile, however, and shifted the box so should could touch his hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you," she murmured, her gratefulness reflected in her eyes.

Ross nodded his head, let his fingers linger on Erin's skin. She dropped her hand away, and he removed his hand from her shoulder, stepping back to allow her forward. She strode proudly into the tattoo shop, flaunting the big pink box. The men perked up, greeted her with exclamations of excitement and enthusiasm.

"I brought doughnuts!" Erin cried, setting the box down with a flourish. "First come, first serve!"

If the pancakes from the day before had caused a scene, the doughnuts caused a riot. Erin's face split into a genuine grin, the first of the day, her face radiating joy. Here were her lost boys reincarnated, sans physical features and personalities. Here were not the replacements to her old team members but the men she hoped to acquaint herself with. Here was the team she desperately wanted to join. Here were the men she could find room in her heart for, right beside _The Ravenous_. Here was her home away from home.

Ross pulled Lee aside, eyeing the men warily as they swarmed around Erin's small body, obscuring her from view. He turned to Christmas, fixed him with a steady gaze.

"Today's her birthday," Lee stated, voice clipped, reporter-like. "Six years ago, she was accepted into _The Ravenous_ officially on June fifteenth. She joined when she was seventeen."

"Seventeen?" Ross shook his head, ran a hand through his hair. "Seventeen."

"No shit." Christmas rolled his shoulders, glanced at the swarm of hungry mercs around the table. "Today is also the day her team was killed."

Barney rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, scratched at his beard. "We should do something," he muttered to no one in particular.

"Like what? Throw her a birthday party? Don't be ridiculous."

"She'll think of today," Tool spoke up behind the two mercs, "as the anniversary of the worst day of her life. We should make today a day worth remembering for its happiness, not for its sadness."

Christmas glanced at the tattoo artist, noted Tool's exhausted features. "Are you drunk?" he asked, eyes drawn to Tool's stringy and unusually greasy hair.

"Only a bit," the man replied, following the statement with a raucous belch. "We just gotta make her happy today, that's all. Shouldn't be too hard."

Ross smirked, nodded his head. "What, then?"

"I say we go for a bike ride, hit up the nice spots," Tool suggested. "Stop by a bar. We could hire a male stripper for her!"

"Sure you don't want to do that yourself?"

Tool laughed. "I'll be long gone by five, I think," he garbled, still laughing. "Just make sure I land on a couch or something."

Christmas chuckled, glanced around. He frowned, counted the number of men in the room. "Where's Yang?" he asked.

"He won't be here for a week," Ross answered. "Something's up with his parents in China."

"It was an emergency," Tool stated, nodding his head gravely. "Means you get double-shift."

"What?" Lee faced Ross, anger creeping into his eyes.

"I can't take the shift," Ross explained. "Tool can't be stuck here drunk. If we get a call, he'd fuck it up. And the rest of the boys have plans. Tonight isn't their shift, so they didn't leave the night open."

"You've got to be shitting me! This isn't fair."

"It's just one more night." Ross shrugged. "You'll be fine."

"Un-fucking-fair."

"Barney!" Erin waved from over at the table to catch the older man's attention. "I still have some doughnuts. Do you want one?"

Ross lumbered over, watching Erin carefully. She smiled at him again, handed him a plate stacked with two doughnuts, both simple glazes. Her hands trembled minutely as she looked around, gaze darting from Christmas to Tool, from Toll Road to Gunner and Hale, finally settling on Ross. Her eyes misted over slightly, her lips stretching into a bitter smile. Ross stiffened, expecting tears. He reached out, touched the woman on her shoulder again, pulled her aside, away from Christmas's burning, almost accusing, stare. They slipped into a dark corner in the back, hidden from prying eyes. Ross set the doughnuts aside, faced Erin. She rubbed her eyes, tried to smile bravely.

"You guys remind me of _The Ravenous_," she explained, voice cracking.

Ross forced Erin to look at him. "I don't think your team would have wanted you to be so heartbroken on your birthday," he stated quietly. "They'd want you to be happy, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I guess…" Erin sniffled, managed to clear the mistiness from her eyes. "It's just so hard, you know? I still remember how they'd wake me up on my birthday and shower me with beer and money and all these things I didn't need. I don't think they understand that I need _them_, not the stuff they were giving me." She smiled nostalgically. "They'd throw me some crazy parties, too. And 'cause I was so young, they had fun pulling the weirdest shit on me. It was so fun. God, I miss them so much."

"Listen, how'd you like to go on a ride with us?" Ross squeezed her shoulder, awkward when it came to being comforting, especially towards women. "Tool's a little drunk, but he should be fine. It's a nice day, and you should be outside enjoying it. How's that sound?"

Erin nodded her head. "That sounds pretty nice. You'll have to give me a ride back to my place first, though."

"Deal."

Erin wrapped her arms around Ross's neck and pulled him close, gripping him with surprising strength. Unaccustomed to hugs, Ross nevertheless returned the embrace, found himself clutching Erin as close as he could to his body. She only tightened her grip in return, face burying into his neck. The feel of her body in his arms sent tantalizing shivers down Ross's spine. Her hair, vaguely smelling of cinnamon, tickled his nose, confused his senses. She planted a kiss on his cheek, her lips brushing his ear.

"Thank you, again," she whispered. "It's been awhile since anyone's ever cared."

Reluctantly, Ross let Erin go, unconsciously trying to maintain contact with her body as long as possible. She gave him one of her pretty smiles, beckoned him out from the corner. Christmas's eyes followed her to one of the motorcycles, his gaze darting to Ross's face. The older man's expression was that of perplexity and something Lee couldn't place – at least, not from such a distance. Ross called out to Tool, told the former merc to ready the bikes for a ride while Erin stopped by her place to pick something up. Lee felt something twinge in his chest, tightening around his throat. He watched, unknowingly glowering, as Ross backed his bike out of the garage, Erin hopping onto the seat behind him, arms linked around his waist.

The two sped out into the street, garage door rolling shut behind them. Erin clung loosely to Ross's waistline, her fingers touching bare skin as the wind created from the forward movement of the bike lifted the older man's shirt. Another shiver of pleasure coursed down the man's spine, made his mouth dry. He shook his head, fighting off the senses that threatened to overwhelm him. He sighed with relief as he pulled up into Erin's driveway, partially grateful as the woman's touch slid away from his sculpted torso, partially disappointed that she hadn't let her fingers linger on his abs.

"I don't need to go into the house," Erin said, opening the garage door. "It's right here in the garage."

The early afternoon sun flooded the garage with light, illuminating naked concrete and bare walls. Erin approached the tarp-covered object on the far right, boot heels clicking against the bare floor. Grabbing one end of the tarp, she flung it away, revealing the object underneath.

"Beauty, isn't it?" Erin asked, gesturing to the gleaming motorcycle.

Ross could only nod his head. The Harley's black and silver chrome, edged with charcoal gray, glinted in the light. Erin let her fingers trail over the bike lovingly, caressing it as a lover would caress the other's skin, ulterior motives being an arousal or sexual pleasure. Erin swung her leg over the bike, straddled it in such a manner that made Ross's lower abdomen twitch, and kicked back the kickstand, letting gravity draw the bike forward and down the driveway. She paused to let the garage door clatter shut, revved the engine. The Harley gave a throaty growl, rumbled beneath her. A Sportster, the bike's undercarriage stood only two and a half inches off the ground, small and compact, yet still retaining the essence of all Harleys. Compared to the other boys' Choppers and Lee's race bike, Erin's motorcycle, though small in size beside the other bikes, dwarfed them in comparison, the epitome of classiness and true style.

"Shall we?" Erin guided the motorcycle out onto the street.

In a matter of minutes, they were back at the shop. Ross took the lead, beckoned the men out onto the street. Christmas rolled his race bike beside Barney, gestured around.

"Where's Erin?" he asked.

The deep throated growl echoed down the street as Erin rode towards the team.

"Holy shit!" Hale cried. "Gor-gee-_ous_!"

"Now that's what you call a ride," Gunner stated, whistling. "Ride it proud, Erin!"

Erin grinned as she rolled to a stop. Planting both feet on the ground, her gaze swept over the Choppers and Lee's race bike. Her smirk widened, and she patted the gas tank of the Harley.

"Envious, Tool?" she called to the tattoo artist.

"Can I get a ride?" the man countered, lips splitting into his leering grin. "That's fucking style!"

Erin met Lee's gaze, recognized the look of awe in his eyes. She nodded her head, eyes flashing proudly, and gunned the throttle, eliciting a hearty snarl from the bike. Hale whooped in the back, echoed by Toll Road's "_Fuck_ yes!" and Gunner's deep, gravely laughter.

"Impressive," Christmas muttered to Ross, cocking his head.

As Erin turned the bike around, the team received an eyeful of the bike's tail. On the side, the two wolves, one snarling, one howling, backed each other, _The Ravenous_ scrawled beneath their regal and wild heads. The spitting image of Erin's tattoo, the drawing nevertheless seemed more ominous and dangerous. The men shuddered in turn, realizing the double meaning of the team's symbol. Erin's vicious fighting from the night before rose up in Ross's and Lee's minds, reminiscent of the snarling wolf on her shoulder. And perhaps it was the wolves that had finally devoured _The Ravenous_, sparing none but Erin alone.

"Thataway, brothers!" Tool cried, spurring his 'cycle into action. "Onward!"

The team caught up with Erin, settled into a fair pace with her. Christmas drew his race bike close to Erin, glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She maneuvered the bike with familiar ease, comfortable on the 'cycle's leather seat. He noticed the way she held the bike between her legs, muscles flexed slightly as she moved with the motorcycle beneath her. Teasing thoughts tickled Lee's mind, agitated his abdomen. He shared a glance with Ross, a similar expression crossing the older man's face. They both looked away in unison, focused on the road.

"On metal wings we soar," Erin cried above the droning motorcycles. "Listen to them roar!"

"Asphalt beneath our feet," Christmas heard himself counter, "the wind tastes so fucking sweet!"

"Metal demons are our steeds – "

"Ain't nothing else to meet our needs."

"No more tears – "

"No more fears."

"Just the road to carry us on," Erin finished, grinning at Christmas.

"Just the road to carry us on," Christmas and Ross echoed in unison, each beneath his breath. "To carry us on…"


	9. Hot and Heavy

**A/N:** Hehehe. This is where the M rating kicks in. I think this chapter could be classified as porn. XP Enjoy!

* * *

Although Tool begged them to, _The Expendables_ and Erin decided against dropping by a bar, concerned more with Tool's erratic driving rather than their craving for alcohol. They rode, instead, to a park void of human life. Not their usual rendezvous, they nevertheless caved in to Erin's pleas and parked their bikes in the nearby parking lot. The grass, lush beneath their feet, glowed scarlet-red in the beginnings of the sunset, the rippling plot of land alight with golden fire. The group settled down in the middle of the park, Tool on the verge of dropping into sleep already. Toll Road and Hale wrestled a bit, snapping at each other with their feet, tumbling head over heels as Tool and Gunner looked on and laughed, cheering for whomever was winning. Erin sat herself a little ways away, flanked by Ross and Christmas on both sides. She gazed off into the sunset, admiring the orange hues.

"The sunset is gorgeous in Cuba," she commented, leaning back against a tree trunk. "_The Ravenous_ and I were sent there to take out the army of men in charge of Cuba's nuclear missiles. The job was rough and grueling, but we got it done, at least for a while. We were paid nine fucking million. A million per merc." She smiled, shook her head. "A quarter of that went into my Harley, the rest on an offshore account that I tap from time to time, like when I bought the house out here. The job was worth the sunset the last day, though. After all that slaughter," she faltered on the last word, "it was the most welcoming sight in the world."

"I can imagine," Ross mumbled, rubbing his temples wearily. "How many men?"

"Oh, I'd say about two hundred. Small army, really. They need a shitload of scientists to man the nuclear plant." Erin shook her head. "Teddy was joking the whole damn time with Rover, just begging him to do something stupid. They ended up blowing up the non-nuclear part of the plant." Erin laughed, voice hoarse. "We were in a shitload of trouble then. But, we managed to come out of there alive."

"Sounds like fun," Lee commented dryly.

"I suppose," Erin agreed, shrugging. "At least you guys are fun to look at. You all have pretty faces."

Ross and Christmas glanced at each other over Erin's head, eyebrows arched in surprise.

"Except Yang, I guess," Erin continued. "Then again, I don't think Asians look nice. I'm so prejudiced, sheesh."

"I'd say you're racist," Christmas muttered; Erin punched his shoulder hard.

"Oh, can it," she cried, smirking in spite of herself. "You're just like Phantom sometimes."

"How was your old team?" Ross asked hesitantly.

"_The Ravenous_?" Erin pursed her lips, her eyes starting to become unfocused. "Oh, boy, were they a group, I'm telling you. I'd say they were three times as foolish as Hale over there. They were always pulling stupid stunts, sometimes on the job, mostly on vacation. And they were grown men, too! Phil and George were the most serious of the group, although, when you got them drunk, they were fucking hilarious. Leroy…I think he was the only one with his head on straight. He kept us all in line, negotiated deals, stuff like that. He was always looking out for us."

"Sounds like a dad," Christmas commented, scratching the back of his head absentmindedly.

"In a way, he was. Mostly, he was like a military sergeant. He had a helluva time making us haul ass, and he enjoyed every minute of it. I guess he was a bit sadistic, now that I think about it." Erin smiled, eyes still staring off into space. "When I first joined the team, all those boys thought I was psycho. 'A woman mercenary?' they would ask themselves. 'No fucking way.' They expected me to either die on my first job or back of it. I did neither." Her smiled widened. "'We came, we saw, we kicked ass!' That was my motto, and the team loved it. When they realized I was good, they couldn't keep themselves away from me. Lord forbid I wanted to go home early to catch some sleep. Nuh-uh. They wanted to throw knives with me, test out my accuracy, mess around with my head. Yep, they were one big pile of jokers alright."

A cool night breeze started up, ruffled Erin's hair. She closed her eyes, let her head tilt back so she could enjoy the last few minutes of the sun's warmth and the wind. Ross glanced at the curve of her neck, imagined his lips pressed against it. He shook his head, forced himself to look away. Lee's gaze traveled from the curve of Erin's neck, sloped down her torso, followed the long lines of her jean-clad legs.

_I love Lacy,_ he told himself. _I love Lacy. I love Lacy, dammit!_

"It's been awhile since I last saw the sun set," Erin said, watching the sun finally sink behind the horizon. "Not since the team was killed…" She leaned forward, arms propped against her thighs, and fiddled with some grass. "I was at home watching the sunset when they died. It would've been dawn over there in Iraq. While I enjoyed the sunset, _The Ravenous_ cursed the sunrise…"

"How'd you find out?" Ross asked, voice quiet, tentative.

"I guess I sensed it. When you've been around people for years, you begin to develop this connection with them. When night fell three years ago, I felt this horrendous pain in my chest. The next morning, I called up one of my Iraqi contacts, and they were dead."

"At least you weren't there to see it," Lee muttered. "It's no fun watching your teammates die while you survive. I would know."

"Same here," Ross said. "Tool and I thought we were gonna die. We were the only ones who came out of Nigeria alive."

"I hate explosions," Christmas growled, shaking his head. "Too many of my pilot friends were shot out of the sky. The explosions from their planes when they hit the ground were awful. I could hardly stand blowing up the general's house in Vilena."

"We're all afraid of something." Erin chuckled bitterly. "Funny thing is, I'm terrified of death, and yet I would give up my life for _The Ravenous_. I guess that's why I fight so hard to live. I just don't want to die."

"_Fuck!_ That was a low blow!" Hale cried, staggering away from Toll Road. "Hey, man, I want children some day!"

"You play, you pay," the ex-wrestler quipped, wiping the sweat off his face.

"I think it's time we head back," Erin said, pulling herself onto her feet. "I'm getting hungry, and I've got some Heinekens waiting in the fridge back home. Can't you hear them calling?"

Erin helped Ross and Christmas to their feet, practically yanking them forward. She cast one last glance at the horizon, now fading to an aquamarine, and murmured, "Miss you guys." With a small sigh, she hooked her arms through Ross's and Lee's arms, nearly dragged them towards Tool and the rest of the gang.

"Let's go!" she cried, rapping the top of Tool's head with her knuckles. "I'm starving!"

Gunner stepped between Hale and Toll Road, ending the fight. He called it a tie, winced as he received the familiar yells of protest from both men. The team wandered back to their bikes, straddled them, hit the road again, Erin in the lead this time. Curving with the road, she reveled in the cold air that nipped her skin, growled deep inside with the throaty Harley engine. The rest of the team kept up with her pace, Lee and Ross flanking her sides again. Face aglow with freedom, her expression that of deep concentration, Erin guided the men back to the shop, navigating the streets with ease. One by one, they rolled into the garage, killed their engines. Hale rushed to the fridge in the corner, scrambled to find something to eat. He brought out leftover pizza, much of it coated with anchovies. He grimaced, tossed the box onto a table.

"Anybody hungry for anchovies?" he called.

"Why the fuck are you asking?" Toll Road snapped. He opened the pizza box, stumbled away, cringing. "Nevermind."

"Why don't we ever have food in this joint?" Hale cried, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Tool eats it all," Gunner stated, giving the pizza box a wide berth. "That's why."

"It's not my fault you guys order food and don't eat it all," Tool exclaimed. "I don't like letting good food go to waste!"

"Sure, sure. Settle down, gramps." Hale laughed. "You offer any of the food to the broads you fuck?"

"I've only got one thing to offer them," Tool slurred. "And that's in my pants."

The men spluttered into laughter. Christmas chuckled, and Erin suppressed the guffaws that welled in her chest. She glanced at the time, thought for a moment.

"When's Yang getting here?" she asked. "I want to go home."

"He's in China," Ross answered, pulling off one of his gloves. "Won't be back until next week. Lee's covering his shift."

"Ah." Erin glanced at Christmas. "I've got food in the fridge at home," she said, keeping her voice low. "Or do you want to stick around here?"

"Well…" Lee desperately wanted to stay, in hopes of convincing Ross to cover the shift instead. One look at Erin's pleading expression deemed otherwise. "Food sounds good," he grumbled reluctantly.

"Brilliant." Erin clapped him on the shoulder, offered him a broad smile, and chuckled. "I just want to get to the good booze." She turned to Ross. "See you tomorrow, then."

The phone rang with its annoying trill, killing all the noise in the shop. Tool lumbered over to the machine, picked the phone up out of its cradle as it rang again.

"Y'ello," he answered. "This is Tool." He paused, pursed his lips. "Uh-huh. Yep. Yep. Should be. Sounds good." The tattoo artist set the phone back in its cradle, regarded the men with a solemn gaze. "Looks like you've got yourselves a job," he said. "Sounds high-end, too."

"Walk in the park?" Ross asked. "Or hell and back again?"

"Walk in the park."

"Arrange the meeting."

"Already done." Tool picked up his long pipe, patted down the tobacco, lit it. "Saturday night, at the Hyatt. You need to be in black tie."

"Black tie?" Hale asked incredulously. "Black tie my ass! What the fuck for?"

"Meeting under the guise of businessmen, I guess," Tool muttered. "It's gonna be packed full of people, too. All elegant and everything."

"This Saturday?" Ross scratched his beard. "Christmas and I'll go."

"Me, too." Erin rolled her shoulders, glanced between Tool and Ross. "I could come in handy. I'm quite familiar with black tie events."

Ross wasn't in the mood to argue. He nodded his head. "Alright. Saturday. Two days from now."

"Come on, Christmas," Erin said, tugging on the Brit's sleeve. "Let's go."

The men throwing good-byes as she left, Erin and Lee drove their bikes to her house, parked them in the garage. Erin tugged the tarp over the Harley before slipping into the house. Clicking on the lights, she scouted through the house, Christmas following up behind her. Once she deemed the premises was clear, Erin hastened to the kitchen, yanked open the refrigerator door. She looked over her shoulder at Lee sheepishly.

"Do you cook any good?" she asked.

"Depends," Christmas asked. "Why?"

"'Cause I can't cook for shit. I've told you that before." Erin rummaged through her fridge, pulled out two packets of lasagna, tossed them into the microwave. "God, a cake sounds so good right now. Red velvet, yum."

Christmas settled down at the kitchen table, rubbed his hands over his balding head. The microwave beeped. Erin removed the lasagna, tossed one of the steaming packets to Lee, a fork following a moment after. The two mercs dove into their food with vigor, ate the pasta in a matter of minutes. Erin leaned back in her chair, belched, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Lee pushed his lasagna container aside, burped quietly in comparison as the food settled in his stomach. He brooded for a moment, stared down at ceramic tile of the old table.

"You shouldn't come with us," he growled. "You'll get in the way."

"Oh, Jesus, Christmas, you're not gonna start up again, are you?" Erin rubbed her eyes wearily. "Why not?"

"You'll just get in the way."

"It's the only way I can prove my worth to you guys."

"You shouldn't join the team."

Erin slammed her fist against the table. "Why are you so fucking against me?"

"If I knew, I would tell you!"

"_Bull_shit!"

"We don't need you on the fucking team."

"I have every right to join the team."

"No, you don't."

"Listen." A dangerous glint entered Erin's eyes, her lips pulling back into a snarl. "I am _not _a fucking punching bag! _You_ don't have the right to take all your fucking anger out on me just because Lacy's done with you!"

Christmas leapt to his feet, knocked his chair over. "You don't know _shit_ about Lacy!"

Erin was on her feet just as quick. "Oh, yeah? She can't trust you because of your job! How does it feel, lying to her all the time?"

"Fuck you!" The rage flared up in Christmas's veins unchecked.

"Go fuck yourself!"

Lee stormed from the room, cussing vehemently. He punched the button for the garage door, kicked his race bike into gear. Erin appeared at the door, yelling, "You've got your dick shoved so far up your ass that you can't accept the fucking truth, Lee!"

Christmas shot out of the garage, skidded on the pavement and asphalt, barely corrected himself in time. Leaving behind the smell of burnt rubber, smoke trailing in his wake, he gunned the bike down the road, engine shrieking like a banshee. The motorcycle wavered unsteadily beneath him, threatened to fly out from under him.

"Bitch," he snarled to himself. "Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, _bitch!_"

He swerved at the end of the street, yanked the handlebars around, hooked a hard U-turn. The bike raced back to Erin's house, screaming bloody murder. He jumped off the bike, tore the helmet off his head, barreled into the house. He found Erin in the kitchen, righting the fallen chairs. She scowled at him, brow furrowed, eyes flashing, challenging him. Lee's thoughts crashed together, logic overruled by fury. He stormed over to Erin. She stood her ground, glared into his stony face. Knocking over plates and pans, the Brit shoved her against the kitchen counter and crushed his lips against hers.

She fought him momentarily, clawed his shoulders, his back. He pushed her into the counter, body pressed into hers. He bit her lip, forced his tongue into her mouth. She met him with equal force, bit him in return, tongue pushing deep into his mouth. His hands found her hips, gripped her ass. They gasped for air in unison, Christmas pressing his mouth against Erin's not a second thereafter. Grinding his pelvis into hers, Lee grabbed her by the hair, shoved his tongue deeper into Erin's throat. One hand pulling down on his neck, Erin reached down, grabbed Lee's crotch.

"_Fuck_," he moaned, body shuddering in response.

He lifted Erin off the ground, her legs wrapping around his waist. He staggered away from the counter, sucked on Erin's neck. She moaned, shivered against him. She reached down, bit into _his_ neck, hard enough for a response. They fell together at the bottom of the stairs, Christmas unable to carry the woman upstairs safely. She tugged at his shirt, ripped it apart at the seams. Lee yanked the tank top off Erin's body, tossed it aside, kissed the woman down the chest, between her breasts, inching towards the top of her pants. She squirmed beneath him, fingers grasping his head. Lee fumbled with the jean's button, tore it away viciously. Tugging the pants off Erin's legs, he covered her mouth with his again, hands kneading Erin's flesh. She pulled at his pants, felt the zipper break beneath her fingers. Christmas kicked the pants off, bit Erin's lip again, tongue sliding out of her mouth and down her neck. His hard-on throbbed against Erin's thigh; she ripped the thin fabric from his pelvis, his dick hot on her skin. Lee's fingers snapped the elastic band of Erin's panties, tore them in half. Erin shoved her pelvis onto his, whimpering. Lee grabbed Erin's ass, thrust himself into her, legs wrapping tight around his waist.

Breathing heavily into Erin's face, Lee pounded into her, in a frenzy. Moans and cries bounced off the walls of the house, the wooden floor creaking and straining between the two sweating bodies. Erin clutched Christmas closer, cried, "Harder, _harder!_" Fire broiled in Lee's abdomen, compelled him into a deeper thrusts, Erin's body bucking wildly beneath him.

"_Aggggggghhhhhhhh!_"

Christmas's back arched as he climaxed, Erin crying out beneath him as the orgasm swept her away. Muscles straining, Lee gasped for air, quivering in delicious release. It lasted an eternity, his vision covered with white bursts. He slumped against Erin, shivered as he relaxed. Erin's muscles loosened beneath him, her ragged breath falling into a calmer rhythm. The darkness swirled around them, enveloped their entwined limbs, the only light emanating from the kitchen. Christmas wrapped his arms around Erin, pulled her as close as possible.

The wolves rippled beneath his touch.


	10. Wrong Side of the Bed

**A/N:** Sorry it's so short! Enjoy!

* * *

Cold water showered over Lee, made him inhale sharply. He adjusted the knob on the wall, changed the ice cold water to that of mild warmth. The water pounded his tense muscles, trickled down his skin. Christmas supported himself against the wall, arms planted on either side of the showerhead. Watching the water swirl down the drain, he remembered the sweat, the passion, from the night before. He groaned inwardly, his hand wrapping around the bar of soap in the corner. Working up a thick lather, he ground the soap against his skin, desperately trying to wipe away the memory of the sex, not just the sweat. He nearly rubbed his skin raw, half of the bar of soap gone down the drain. The water barraged against the shower floor, echoed loud in Lee's ears, grated on his frayed and damaged nerves. He rubbed the soap furiously over his head, as though to cleanse himself of the images that rose unbidden in his mind. The panting, the moans, the cries of ecstasy – how Christmas wished they would slip down the drain, too, lost forever in the sewers to plague another mind, not his! As former British SAS, how could he lose control? The very concept had been drilled into his mind the very first day of training, along with grueling work. Control was his middle name...so where had it gone?

Lee washed the last of the soap from his body, turned the shower off. He grabbed one of the body towels on the rack, dried himself, wrapped the fabric around his waist. He imagined the bathroom was his at home, that the sex had just been a wet dream, that _Erin_ had just been a dream. The face in the mirror did not resemble him, Christmas noticed, glancing away from the reflective glass. He cringed as he thought about the pleased expression in his eyes, although he felt anger rather than pleasure deep within. He opened the bathroom door tentatively, peered around. The bedroom was empty, the double doors shut and locked from the inside. Lee sighed with relief, found that Erin had laid out fresh clothes for him on the bed. He frowned, picked the jeans up. On the inside of the waistband, the name Pretty-Boy had been stitched into the fabric sloppily. The pants fit him well, just the right size. The t-shirt hung a little loose, the name Pretty-Boy again stitched sloppily into the collar. A long-sleeve, light-blue button-up Oxford shirt lay on the bed, ready for use. Upon close inspection, the name Leroy occupied the inside of the collar.

_Old team members,_ Christmas remembered, keeping the shirt unbuttoned as he tugged it on and rolled up the sleeves. _God, she must've fucked them all._

Wanting nothing more than escape, Lee forced himself down the stairs, frowned as he reached the bottom step. He stepped wide to avoid the floor in front of the stairs, noticed that the floor had been swept clean of ripped clothes. A washer hummed in the background, punctuated by the clink and clatter of dishes. Steeling himself, Christmas stepped into the kitchen, wandered by Erin warily. Her back turned to him, she worked on the stove, eggs sizzling in a pan over one of the open flames. Lee sat down at the table as quietly as possible, hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. He inadvertently recalled the feel of Erin's body beneath his, the smell of her sweat and pheromones, her voice crying in his ears.

A plate of steaming scrambled eggs slid into his vision. He glanced up from the table, looked into Erin's deep brown eyes. She smiled at him softly, settled herself down in the chair across from him, a bottle of ketchup in one hand. Squeezing the condiment onto the eggs generously, Erin dug into the food with her fork, eating quickly but silently, save for the sound of the fork scraping against the plate. Lee made himself eat the eggs, grimacing every time he swallowed. Never a fan of eggs, Christmas's lack of appetite made his dislike of the food nearly intolerable. He was surprised when he finished off the plate, leaving nothing behind but the dishware. Erin swept the plates off the table, hardly making a sound. The silence stretched.

"Last night…" Christmas heard himself say.

"Uh-huh?"

Lee's tongue felt swollen in his mouth. "Last night wasn't supposed to happen."

"But it did."

"It was a mistake."

The plates clattered in the sink. Erin, back facing Christmas, leaned against the counter, stared hard out the window. She shook her head slowly; Lee swallowed thickly.

"It was a mistake?" Erin asked, her voice low.

"It shouldn't have happened."

"I see." Erin exhaled heavily. "I should've known…" She pushed herself away from the counter, turned to look at Christmas.

Lee flinched inwardly, imagining Erin's black SOG knives embedding themselves into his chest. The wolves on her shoulder seemed docile in comparison to the blackness that had replaced Erin's eyes, barely restrained anger carved into her face. Christmas slowly rose to his feet, wishing he had remembered to strap on his knives.

"Last night was nothing," he continued.

"Nothing? Ha!" Erin's laugh sounded like grated glass. "Last night was _definitely_ something, bucko!"

"It won't happen again."

"Oh, that's right, 'cause you're gonna go crying back to Lacy," Erin snapped, "and you're gonna tell her you're so sorry, and she's just gonna take you right back, huh? You sorely underestimate women, Christmas! She's not taking you back!"

"You don't even know her."

"Oh?" Erin's forehead creased. "My brother was her boyfriend before you came along, dumbass! So don't you tell me I don't know Lacy!"

Lee staggered. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Lacy was gonna marry my brother," Erin snarled. "When he died, she was so fucking heartbroken that she told me never to show my face around her place again, just 'cause it reminded her too much of my brother. We were best-fucking-friends!"

Christmas's mind went numb. _Marry, died, heartbroken…best friends?_ He shook his head. "You're lying."

"Am I, Lee?" Erin's scowl deepened. "James Ludolf, my brother. Did Lacy ever mention him to you, huh? Did you ever _notice_ how depressed she gets around the beginning of April? Betcha if you asked her, she'd tell you all about it. And don't forget to mention that you met his sister."

As Christmas thought about it, he did remember the sadness that he sensed from Lacy around April, specifically on April Fool's Day. Although Lacy had never mentioned the name James Ludolf to him, Lee suddenly saw the picture Lacy kept by her computer desk, the one that she said was "just an old friend." The harder he recalled the photograph, the more the man in it resembled Erin. Christmas glanced back at Erin, both incredulous and stunned.

"Two years later," the woman continued hotly, "_you_ came around. I knew right off the bat what you were. You'd sweep Lacy off her feet, and then she'd eventually get rid of you 'cause you'd never be able to tell her everything. It was _you_ who led me to _The Expendables_."

"What the fuck were you stalking Lacy for?"

"To make sure she was okay, that's why!"

"Why the fuck did _you_ care?"

"She was gonna marry my brother, dipshit!" Erin nearly picked up the egg pan to throw at Christmas. "She became my friend!"

"Some friend you were if she told you to fuck off."

"You know what? Fuck you!" Erin chucked the pan at Lee's head. He ducked, the edge of the pan bouncing off the top of his scalp, drawing blood. "My brother died, and then my team was fucking slaughtered! Lacy knew I was a fuse waiting to be lit. She knew I didn't have a normal job, and she was _scared_. She was afraid that I thought it was her fault that my brother died and that I was gonna hurt her."

"Sounds about right, 'cause you're one fucking scary-ass bitch!"

"Yeah, and you fucked this scary-ass bitch last night, so fuck off!"

"_Fine!_"

Lee stormed away, hurried for the garage. He heard Erin slam a spoon into the sink, cuss words streaming out in a long, never-ending line. He hopped on his bike, tore away from the house. Instead of heading for the shop, he hooked a hard left, gunned the engine. Before he knew it, he was in front of Lacy's house, heading for her porch. Tossing his helmet aside, he rapped his knuckles hard on the frame, pressed the doorbell a thousand times. The door opened, revealed Lacy wrapped in a bathrobe. Her eyes widened.

"Lee," she stuttered. "What are you doing here?"

"Come on, Lacy," he pleaded, "let's make up."

The woman shook her head. "I'm sorry, Lee, but I just can't let you into my life if you won't let me into yours."

"Then I will, I promise!"

"That's what you said the last time." Lacy kept the iron door shut between Lee and herself. "What do you want? Closure? 'Cause I'm perfectly fine, Lee, and I want you to cope and move on. I'm sure you'll find somebody who will be content knowing only half your life."

"Lacy," Christmas whined, "think about what you're saying. You love me!"

"Yes, Lee, I did." Lacy shook her head again, tucked some stray hairs behind her ear. "I'll always have a place for you in my heart, but I just can't deal with it anymore. What am I supposed to do? Sit back and enjoy myself while you're gone for weeks at a time to someplace I don't know about doing God-knows-what? I'm sorry, but that's not me."

Christmas passed a hand on his face, aggravated. "Who was James Ludolf?"

Lacy blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Who was James Ludolf?"

"He was an old friend of mine – "

"Bullshit, Lacy. Tell me the fucking truth."

"He was my fiancé," Lacy admitted, frowning. "He died in a car accident two years before we met, okay?"

"Did he have any sisters?"

"Yeah, one. She was never around." Lacy's frown deepened. "James said she was a bad-ass. When James moved out here, I got to meet her. She was a bad-ass, yeah, but she was okay. I really liked her."

"What happened to her?"

"I don't know. A couple months after James died, she lost it."

"You were her friend, right? Does she come around anymore?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know." Lacy looked away.

"You're lying again, Lacy!" Christmas's voice rose a notch. "Why doesn't she come around anymore?"

"I told her not to, that's why!" Lacy's eyes misted. "I really liked her, I did, but something was wrong with her, and I was afraid she would hurt me. She was one of those people who just seemed dangerous, you know, but they act real nice. I was afraid, and she only came into town once in a while, so I told her that seeing her reminded me of James and it hurt too much."

Lee turned away from the door, paced on the porch, shook his head. _No, no, no, no, no. Erin can't be right. She's just fucking with me, and she's dragged Lacy into this and everything! Fuck!_

"What was her name?" Christmas demanded, pivoting hard on his heel.

"Erin," Lacy answered, edging away from the door. "Erin Frey Ludolf, I think. She lived out in California, even though James said she was gone all the time." The woman grabbed the edge of the second door, started to close it. "Look, Lee, it was nice being with you, but I just can't go through this again. Please, don't bother me anymore."

The door clicked shut in Christmas's face. He stared at the intricate work of the iron door, angry and confused. With a growl, he turned away, went back to his race bike. Stooping to pick his helmet off the ground, he couldn't believe what Lacy had said…or the fact that she had backed up Erin's claims. He was reminded of the sex with Erin as he straddled the motorcycle. He glanced at Lacy's house, brow furrowed.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "For every-fucking-thing."

When he arrived at the shop, Ross appeared in front of him in an instant, a scowl etched into his face. He yanked Christmas aside, shoved him against the wall roughly, out of sight from the other half of the team.

"Hey!" Lee cried, slapping Ross's hands away. "What the fuck?"

"What the fuck did you do to Erin?" the older man asked, eyes flashing.

"Nothing." Christmas tried to step around Ross, was slammed back against the wall.

"You obviously did _something_," Ross snapped.

"She was like that this morning," Lee growled. "She must be PMSing."

Ross shook his head, let go of Christmas's collar, stormed away. Lee rubbed his neck, glared after the older man. Although rough sometimes, Ross had never been so violent towards the Brit. Christmas tossed his helmet onto his bike, approached the front of the shop. He heard Erin's voice, followed by a round of raucous laughter. Erin looked up over the shoulder of Toll Road, her eyes flickering into a brief glare. The look passed, however, and she directed her attention back to the other men, laughed as Hale made an obscene comment. Tool rapped Erin's head playfully with his pipe, took a drag, exhaled a long plume of smoke over her. She snapped at him, mentioning something about second-hand smoke. He gave a throaty laugh, clapped a hand on Ross's shoulder, glanced up. His eyes met Christmas's, his face forming into a scowl. He shook his head, thin-lipped, and mouthed, "Asshole," before turning back to Erin and offering her his toothy grin. Ross flanked Tool's side, his gaze falling on Erin's head, eyes flickering with that emotion Lee still couldn't decipher. The older man shook his head, cleared the look out of his eyes, frowned to himself.

Christmas sighed, headed back over to his bike. Growling inwardly, he tugged on his helmet, revved up his engine. The rest of the team glanced up, craning to look at Lee as the Brit sped out of the garage and rode out into the street. Gunner jerked his thumb at the disappearing motorcycle.

"What's up with him?" he asked, glancing at Ross.

"He woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Erin commented dryly.

"He's a Brit, what do you expect?" Hale quipped, lips splitting into a wide grin. "Everything's on the wrong fucking side over in England."

"Touché."


	11. The Ballroom, Part 1

"I feel like an Italian mobster."¹

Lee glanced at Ross, couldn't help but smirk as he watched the older man fiddle with the black tie around his neck. "Yeah, you look like one."

"And you look like a fucking transporter² or something. You know – a chauffeur."

"Chauffeurs always get to drive around the pretty and rich ladies."

Ross shook his head, straightened the tie. The black suit jacket was almost too tight, the slacks creased unprofessionally down the middle. Ross sighed, his toes stifled within the confines of his leather dress shoes. He eyed Christmas. The Brit laced up the last of his shoes, stood up to admire himself in the mirror. After a few adjustments to the collar and to his tie, the knife specialist nodded his head, turned away from the reflective glass. He caught Ross looking at him, noticed the glare on the older man's face. Lee chuckled.

"What's the matter?" he asked Ross. "Never worn a suit before?"

"Not in a long time." Ross tugged at the collar, winced as the shoulders pinched tight. "I now remembered why I don't like them. They're a prison without bars."

"It's not that bad."

"Fuck off."

Christmas involuntarily flinched. In the past two days, Ross's tone had grown accusatory and angry towards Lee. The older man's remarks had turned snappish, edged with a viciousness that Christmas had rarely heard. Though still sharing with the Brit an occasional joke, Ross had turned to harsh sarcasm and curt, double-meaning words. Positive that the older man hadn't found out about Lee's one-night stand with Erin, the Brit was still nevertheless anxious. Unsure of what Erin had told him and Tool, who had also been visibly disgusted by Christmas's presence the past couple of days, Lee had grown wary. All the unvoiced anger and agitation was really starting to grate on his nerves.

"Talk about monkey suits," Hale quipped as he passed by, shaking his head. "There's a reason why I'm not a waiter anymore!"

"Waiter?" Toll Road turned to the black man. "You were a fucking waiter?"

"Damn right I was," Hale answered. "I was the best fucking waiter ever. I made a shitload of money from tips. Those rich ladies sure are generous when they get an eyeful of me."

"Keep on dreaming," Tool chuckled, clapping Hale hard on the back. "I hear you got a little flirtatious and was kicked down to washing dishes after you tried to plant a big ol' sloppy one on an old lady's forehead."

"You're kidding me!" Toll Road burst into a fit of laughter. "No shit?"

"It wasn't a fucking old lady," Hale defended himself, glared. "It was the richest twenty-year-old blonde I had ever met!"

"Who? Hilary Clinton?"

"Hey, man, I'm only forty-two!"

"Doesn't mean shit, Caesar."

"To hell with you!"

"Oh," Toll Road cooed, "I can't _wait_ to meet you there."

A motorcycle roared into the garage, shaking the very ground the men stood on. Gunner stepped off the bike and approached them, his blonde hair falling over his forehead. A look of amusement and awe danced in his pupils as he spoke to the rest of the team, sans Yang.

"She's on her way," he explained. "She was right behind me."

"I don't hear a motorcycle," Tool pointed out.

"I didn't say she was riding her bike." Gunner smirked. "She's riding high-class tonight, though."

"She didn't rent a fucking limo, did she?" Christmas asked, surprisingly only half-serious.

"Nah. She just 'borrowed'," – Gunner made quotation marks in the air with his fingers – "a Rolls-Royce."

"A Rolls-Royce?" Hale's jaw dropped open. "You're fucking joking! No way in _hell_ she got her hands on a Royce!"

"She knows how to work people over," Gunner stated, shrugging. "I don't know. All I know is that she called up some guy named Memphis³ and asked him if he could 'secure' her with a Royce."

And it rolled right on in. The Rolls-Royce came to a stop inside the garage, flanked on both sides by motorcycles. Chrome shining, the diamond-black color of its body glittering, the Phantom Drophead Coupé was the fashion statement of style. Lee inched forward, hands outstretched towards the revered British vehicle.

"It's been a long time since I've touched one of these babies," he murmured, reaching out to touch the hood; a slender hand slapped his away.

"Don't you dare touch," Erin snapped. "Memphis spent an hour cleaning that beauty for me, 'kay? I don't want anybody fucking up the shine, not even a fucking Brit!"

The men glanced at Erin, who had, somehow, gotten out of the car without any of them noticing. They all gaped.

Clad in a slender, form-fitting gown, Erin didn't look like herself at all. Her hair swept up into a semi-ponytail that let curly locks tumble down her neck and back, the woman didn't need much makeup to make herself presentable. A touch of gloss on her lips, just a teeny-weeny bit of eyeliner, and she was set to go. Her dress hung neatly against her body, conforming to her curves and lines, shaping her with delicate silkiness. It wrapped around Erin's neck and descended from there, the open back plunging low down her spine. Glimmering a silvery gray, the fabric split over her right leg – forming a teasing slit that exposed, occasionally, the small flash of smooth flesh – and sloped down to brush her ankles, settling over the second strap of her three-inch, matching silver high heels.

"Jesus," Erin muttered, laughed. "You boys better be careful. The mosquitoes around here are gonna have swarms in your mouths if you keep them open like that." She sauntered forward, heels hardly making a sound against the concrete. "You all better stop undressing me with your eyes, too."

_The Expendables_ struggled to regain their composure. Tool, however, stepped forward to meet Erin, a silly grin plastered on his face, a leering look in his eyes. He circled Erin slowly, let his eyes travel up and down her body slowly. Erin, sensing the challenge, drew herself up to her full height, followed the tattoo artist with a haughty gaze. He smirked, grabbed her hand, planted a kiss on her skin.

"I am so _honored_," the man said, "to be _graced_ with the presence of a _lady_."

"You flatter, Tool, you flatter," Erin replied, smiled. She let her hand follow the curve of her side and down her leg, batted her eyelashes in exaggerated provocation. "I'm glad you like, though." She winked at the tattoo artist, a silly grin splitting across her face; she turned to Ross, approached him slowly. "What do you think?"

"It's…" Ross trailed off, swallowed thickly. "It's beautiful."

"Mmm." Another coy smile played out on Erin's lips. "Thank you. You don't look too bad yourself." She let her eyes wander on Ross as she inspected his suit. "It definitely suits you. I expect to see you wear more of these."

"Fat chance!" Hale exclaimed, finally finding his voice.

"Oh, quiet, Hale!" Erin flapped a hand at him, bade him into silence. "Ross pulls off a suit better than you ever will."

"_Burn!_" Toll Road cried, spluttered into laughter. "She got you there, buddy."

"Be careful," Erin warned the short ex-wrestler. "I'll turn on you next."

"Even though I could stand here and watch Erin all night," Tool spoke up, "you three have a party to get to and a job to finalize."

Ross nodded his head, gestured to Erin. "We'd better go."

Christmas glanced up expectantly from the back of the Royce, having spent the last five minutes of conversation admiring the vehicle. He rose out of his half-crouch as Erin and Ross approached him and the car, a bit frustrated that he hadn't been able to get a good look at the Royce's undercarriage.

"Catch." Erin tossed the Royce's key to Christmas.

"You're letting me drive it?" Lee asked, staring at the key in disbelief.

"I figure that a Brit should drive a British car," Erin muttered, opening one of the car doors. She slipped into the back, gestured for Ross to sit in shotgun. "I'll be okay back here," she told him before Lee slid into the front seat.

Excited, Christmas slid the key into the ignition. The car rumbled to life, purred beneath him. Running a hand over the steering wheel delicately, oh-so-gently, the Brit backed the car out of the garage, guided the vehicle out onto the street and towards the Hyatt. The car drove like a dream, responding to each and every touch Lee gave it – not unlike a woman who was in the process of foreplay or making love with the Brit. The hushed conversation between Ross and Erin, exchanged over the front seat, went unheard by Christmas. He focused on the feeling of luxury and freedom, the tantalizing aspect of style and class. Here was a car he could ride for hours in without complaint, without even _realizing_ that hours had gone by. When he pulled into the parking lot of the Hyatt and stepped out so the valet could park the car, he let go of the car reluctantly, almost certain that it would disappear as soon as he left it.

"Come on," Ross barked, snapping the Brit out of his musings. "We've got business to do."

Sighing, Christmas followed Erin and Ross into the building, noting with mild – could it be _jealousy_? – interest that Erin had looped her arm through Ross's, thus hanging off his elbow…as did all the other women accompanied by men who drifted towards the large ballroom where everything was taking place. A man, dressed prim and proper, standing as though as rod had been shoved up his ass, stood by the door, clipboard in hand.

"Name?" he asked in a bored monotone.

"Barney Ross."

After a few moments of flipping through the list, the man shook his head. "Barney Ross isn't on the list."

"How about Tool?"

"Tool?" The man flipped through the list again. "Ah, here it is. Party of three, I presume?"

"You presumed correctly," Erin answered, offering the blonde-haired man a pretty smile. "We were invited by a good friend of ours. He's about yay tall, has brown hair, brown eyes. He's probably wearing a gray suit." Erin laughed, hardly made an effort to make the sound cute. "He's so peculiar. Could you point us out to him?"

"Far left corner," the man mumbled, a red flush of pleasure creeping up his neck.

"Thank you _so_ much." Erin let her hand touch the man's shoulder as she floated by. "Thank you, thank _you_."

The ballroom was alive with color, bodies, and noise above all else. A band played center stage, strumming out classic foxtrots and waltzes on cellos, violins, and pianos. Men and woman meandered about, pausing to talk to one another, some with plastered smiles on their faces, others boasting genuine smirks and grins. Ceiling arching high above them, the room had a cavernous look. Although filled to the brim with people and tables and chairs, everything seemed dwarfed in size, as though the room could continue expanding and provide much more space. A few couples danced on the ballroom floor, the clicking of their heels lost in the sounds of clinking glassware and excessive talking. The thick, yet comfortably cool, air stifled Ross, and he glanced over at Christmas. The Brit was frowning, although it seemed more like a nostalgic reflection. Erin glanced around with a smile on her lips, reveling in the atmosphere. A waiter passed by with champagne; Erin snatched a glass deftly off the silver platter and sipped at the bubbly, her smile widening.

"It's not often that I get invited to such…_grandeur_," she commented, rolling her eyes up to look at Ross. "I hate feeling like a princess, but I sure as hell like attending balls. Shall we? If we take a seat somewhere, the head honcho will find us."

The trio wandered into the corner, settled down into three plush and padded seats. Erin tossed back the rest of her champagne, leaned into her chair, legs crossed at the knee. The slit opened up, fell away over her leg, revealed the light olive skin. Ross's eyes lingered for a moment on her flesh, a shiver coursing through his body as an image of his hand passing over Erin's leg rose in his mind. He shook his head, cleared away the image, chastised himself. He was too old, too scarred, too noncommittal. Such fantasies were frivolous and out of character for him.

_But it's about time you got with a woman,_ he reminded himself inadvertently. He chastised himself again, passed a hand over his weary face.

"How'd you know what to tell the doorman?" Christmas asked, glancing at Erin. "We don't know what the client looks like."

"No, but I gave a rather vague description, didn't I?" Erin cast her eyes about the room, her suddenly piercing stare flitting from one person to the next.

"What about the suit color?"

"Just a wild guess," Erin mumbled, straining to see through the throng of people over in the far left corner. "Tool made him sound high-class. If he's high-class, he has access to a lot of fashion. Most of all, he'll want us to be able to recognize him. Hence the gray suit. If it's a black tie party, what's a gray suit doing here unless he wants to attract attention?"

"Why the hell would he want to attract attention?" Christmas asked. "If we're having a meeting about a job, he'd want to be as discreet as possible."

"Lee." Erin's voice dropped to such a level that Christmas had to lean forward to hear her. "While we're here, please refrain from using vulgar language. We want to blend in, don't we? People here don't use expletives unless they absolutely have to…in which case, that's usually after they've gone through a couple bottles of champagne or wine." Erin tucked a stray hair behind her ear, smiled as a younger man passed by and made eye contact. "Now, _because_ the client wants to meet here, of all places, we can only assume it's because he wants an immediate conclusion to the job, which can only mean that he had a previous engagement _here_ that he couldn't miss. That means one of two things: either he was dragged along by somebody, which I highly doubt, or he is the host himself."

Erin turned her head to find both Lee and Ross staring at her, almost on the verge of gaping. She smirked, and Christmas exclaimed, "How would you know _that_?"

Erin sighed, glanced away. "_The Ravenous_," she said, "was a team that picked up the jobs other teams wouldn't. That meant we had to learn how to read the client without having met him first. We taught ourselves to literally read between the lines in a conversation, whether it was on the phone or in person. Certain things that a client said, whether it was the way they worded their sentences or picked specific words, told us a lot about that client. It's just a skill that we groomed ourselves with."

"You were only part of _The Ravenous_ for five years!"

Erin glared at the Brit. "There's a shitload to learn in five years, Christmas. Now, if you'll excuse me…" The woman stood up, the slit falling back over her leg, dragging the fabric with it so that it covered her skin. "I believe that young man is about ready to ask me to waltz."

A blonde young man approached, somewhat cocky, mostly timid and unsure. His voice, almost unnaturally smooth, asked Erin to dance. Erin smiled and accepted, looped her arm through the man's elbow. He smiled broadly, led her out onto the dance floor, his friends twisting in their seats to watch him dance with the woman.

"She can dance?" Ross asked in surprise.

"What _can't_ she do?" Lee rolled his eyes, folded his arms over his chest. "She's a fucking jack-of-all-trades."

As the music started up, so did Erin and her partner. Ross leaned forward in his seat, straining to see over the heads of other people. In a swirl of silvery fabric, the split flaring out in a spectacular display of glittering satin, Erin launched into the waltz. Ross stood to his feet as the sight of brilliant movement on the dance floor drew the crowd's attention. They clustered around the ballroom floor, most unaware of their actions. Lee flanked Ross's side, muttered harsh, yet polite, "Excuse me. Pardon me. Coming through." After much struggling to weave through the thick mass of people, Ross and Christmas found themselves at the edge of the dance floor, eyes drawn to the only dancing couple.

Erin seemed to glide. Her partner took long strides, Erin following in tandem, legs extending as far as possible without looking the least bit painful. Together, they twirled and spun, Erin's free arm extending gracefully whenever her partner turned her. Back curved and arched into an elegant position, head turned to the left, the right side of her neck stretching into what seemed to be a never-ending classic pose, Erin was the epitome of elegance, of grace and poise. Her partner's hand inadvertently covered the snarling and howling wolves on her shoulder, the occasional hint of gray peeking out through his long, sinewy fingers. Twinkles, continuity steps, dips, and the occasional developé – in which Erin's leg stretched high into the air before her, the flesh of her inner thigh and calf exposed briefly in a refined kick – sent murmurs of thrill, pleasure, and intrigue through the crowd. Christmas, fighting to keep his composure, glanced at Ross. The older man's eyes flickered as he watched Erin glide over the wooden dance floor, his mouth open in a small gesture of astonishment and awe. Erin's partner paused before the crowd and leaned forward over Erin. The young woman stretched her body out towards the crowd in response, free arm reaching, reaching, _reaching_ in Ross's direction. A smile touched the woman's face, her eyes dancing with childish delight and pleasure. She met Ross's gaze with a fierce intensity, as though willing words into his mind, and folded back into her partner, arm landing delicately on the blonde man's shoulder. The room around them fell into a hush as the song faded away, and Erin's partner twirled her away from him. She spun and spun, dress flaring out in a shimmer of silver, and finally stopped, her arms held out to her sides in a presentation of herself, a pleased grin playing out on her lips. The crowd erupted into thunderous applause.

Relaxing into a position of comfort rather than pain, Erin turned to her partner and gave him a gracious thank you. He smiled, rather flustered from the attention, and returned the thanks, offering a kiss on Erin's hand in return. Again, on crooked elbow, Erin was led off the floor, head held high and proud as the crowd parted to make way for the dancing couple. She sauntered over to the table where Ross and Christmas had been, smirking to herself as she overheard her partner's friends exclaiming to the young blonde man, envious and yet enthralled that their friend had danced with such a lovely woman. Ross and Christmas made their way back to the table, the room's applause still roaring in their ears. They found Erin seated at the table, legs crossed gracefully, if possible, at the knees again. Settling down in the seats on either side of her, the two men slipped into silence, unsure as to how they would phrase their thoughts into coherent sentences. A few women stopped at the table and gushed compliments, awe shining in their eyes and faces. The rest of the women hung back, glaring in envy. The men lined up one by one, gushing compliments even more so than the women. A few bold souls asked Erin for a dance, but she turned them down with a sad shake of her head, smiled prettily at the young men and explained that they would have to wait for a while. A woman had to catch her breath, didn't she? And she certainly couldn't pick from all the men that asked for a dance, could she? Ross and Christmas fidgeted uncomfortably in their seats beside her, each glaring at every man that dared approached the table. Erin placed her hand on Ross's knee, aware of his discomfort, but made no eye contact, her gaze flying out over the crowd instead, searching for the mysterious client. Ross was well aware of the hand, shivered as he felt the warmth of it seeping through the fabric of his pants.

"So much for lying low," Christmas finally muttered.

"Oh, I've made our client very aware of our presence here," Erin retorted, shook her head as another young man approached; the man frowned, drifted away, sullen and disappointed. "We should be seeing him shortly."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Trust me." Erin removed her hand from Ross's knee, stretched languorously, arching with the suppleness of a cat. Christmas saw the vicious panther within her, saw the snarling wolves that ran in tandem with the panther. He shuddered, averted his eyes. "Gray suit," Erin murmured, "ten o'clock."

* * *

**Endnotes**

¹ References Sylvester Stallone's 1991 role in the comedy film _Oscar_, in which he plays a 1930's Italian mobster trying to go straight.

² References Jason Statham's role in the famous _Transporter_ films.

³ References Nicholas Cage's 1995 role in _Gone in 60 Seconds_, in which he plays a former car booster who goes back into business to boost 50 cars in one night to save his brother's life.


	12. The Ballroom, Part 2

Ross and Lee glanced out of the corner of their eyes discreetly, noted the tall, confident man that strolled towards them, parting the crowd as Moses parted the Red Sea. He greeted everyone with smiles, clapped the men on the back, offered the women kisses on the hands and cheeks. Eventually, he was beside the table, the beaming smile a façade as he glanced into the stern faces of Christmas and Ross.

"Barney Ross?" he asked no one in particular.

Ross nodded his head, stood up to look the man in the eye. Bald and clean-shaven, face smooth and marred only with a few wrinkles, the client, so Erin had assumed, reminded the Expendable of Mr. Church, the CIA agent who had sent him and his team on a suicidal mission to the island of Vilena in the Gulf. The man clapped Ross on the shoulder amiably, however, and extended his hand. Giving Ross a firm squeeze, he glanced down at Erin, smile stretching wider.

"And what is _your_ name?" he asked.

Erin extended her arm to him, letting the man take her hand delicately and plant a soft kiss on her skin. "Jamie Ludolf," she answered, her voice smooth.

"Are you with these men?"

"Indeed, I am." Erin gestured to Ross. "This is my date for the night, and this man" – she inclined her head at Christmas – "is our chauffeur. I invited him along, seeing that he is grievously underpaid and resentful."

Christmas glared at Erin, eyes narrowing into accusing slits.

"I see." The client nodded his head, tore his gaze away from Erin. "Would you like to talk elsewhere?" he asked Ross quietly. "I am incredibly sorry for the inconvenience. I leave for Washington, D.C. tomorrow on business at three in the morning. I had no choice but arrange the meeting here."

Ross shrugged, glanced around. "It's very public…"

"Ah, yes, well…I'm a very important man," the client explained, cleared his throat awkwardly. "There are connections I must constantly renew in order to retain my status as a high-class gentleman."

Erin flicked a glance at Christmas. The Brit met her gaze, glared at her as he noted the I-told-you-so look that had entered Erin's eyes. She smirked, her cockiness and smugness etched back into her face for a brief moment before she yanked her façade back into place, once again transforming into the elegant, high-class woman that she wasn't – or, perhaps, the high-class woman she could (_should_) have been.

"Elsewhere, then," the man said, clapping his hands together. "This way."

Ross, Erin, and Christmas followed the man, each squirming beneath the gazes of a thousand pairs of eyes. The client muttered something to the 'bouncer' at the door, squeezed the man shoulder as he smiled, and headed off down one of the long, carpeted hallways. Erin offered the doorman a smile, smiled wider as she received a silly grin in return. Ross paled at the exchange between the two, unsettled by the flirting. A pleasant sort of triumphant feeling expanded in his chest, however, as Erin turned away from the doorman and immediately frowned, rolling her eyes. She caught Ross looking at her, smirked in response, eyes glittering as brightly as her dress.

"In here, please," the client said, gesturing towards the door he had opened at the end of the hall.

The _Expendables_ trio stepped into the room, plush carpet sinking beneath their feet. A small room, it was nevertheless spacious and welcoming. Erin ran her fingers over the polished mahogany table in the middle of the room, fingertips barely _brushing_ the lacquered wood. Christmas glanced around the room, noted that there were no windows. He watched Ross take in the room's features at a glance, no doubt searching for telltale signs of a bugged conversation. The door clicked shut, drew the trio's attention away from their room inspection. The client smiled, gestured at the chairs seated at the table. Not one of them, the client included, took a seat.

"So," Erin began, sauntering her way over to the man, "I've got two questions for you. What's a former Secret Service man calling for a hit and what do you want us to do, Senator?"

Ross and Christmas shared the same glance, one of mild surprise. Erin's smile no longer graced her face; her poise, graceful before, now stood rigid, threatening. This wasn't the way _The Expendables_ conducted business. Ross stepped forward, grabbed Erin's wrist, almost stopped by the feel of her soft skin brushing his calloused fingers. She looked at him briefly, nostrils flaring in anger. Reading the look in his eyes, however, she nodded her head and backed away, perching herself on the edge of the table in a relaxed manner.

Christmas stared at the curve of her back, thought, _My hands have been all over that_. He balked, tore his gaze away from Erin. The panting, the moans, the cries of ecstasy rushed back into his head, echoed in his ears. He flanked Ross's side so that he would have to look over his shoulder to see Erin, hoping that the action would keep him from being tempted. He turned his attention to the client, who shifted around on his feet, one hand fisted tight in his pocket, the other blotting his palm on his grey pant leg. He glanced over his shoulder, double-checked the door to make sure it was locked.

"Listen, I need something done," the senator said, forced himself to lace his fingers behind his back and keep still.

"Obviously," Erin retorted. "Why else did you call Tool?"

The man cleared his throat, tugged at his collar with two sausage fingers. "Ah, yes, well…I have a bit of a conflict with Mexico."

"Don't we all," Erin muttered, hardly flinched as Christmas cast a glare her way.

"A conflict?" Ross asked.

The senator nodded his head. "Yes, indeed, I'm afraid. You see, I have a bit of a…_problem_."

"You're a user," Christmas stated, arms folded across his chest. "Why Mexico? Why not Columbia or Nicaragua?"

"Mexico's closer," the man admitted. "It's a bad habit that I've been trying to kick. Unfortunately, I keep coming back for more."

"What's the problem, then?" Erin crossed her legs at the knees, leaned back against the table. "The cartels out there have decided to kick you out?"

"Something like that," the senator answered. "The drug lord has doubled his price. He says that I need to pay the money if I want to get the good stuff, and I really like the good stuff. It's better than the cheap-ass shit they sell here."

"So you don't want to pay," Ross muttered. "Is that it?"

"No." The man shook his head, chubby cheeks wiggling with the movement. "He wants the money on Monday, and I can't give it to him. He threatened to have his people here tell the whole damn world I use cocaine."

"Ah," Erin spoke up from behind Ross and Christmas, body stretched out on the long table. "You want us to take him out to keep him from letting everyone know about your sin." She pursed her lips, chuckled. "How much you offering?"

"Name a price," the senator said. "I'll pay whatever I have to."

"Five mil," Ross said, thinking back on the price Mr. Church had offered for their mission in Vilena.

"Five _million_ dollars?" the man asked, jaw dropping. He shook his head in disbelief. "You guys _must_ be professionals."

"It's our job, and five mil's the price," Christmas snapped. "Take it or leave it."

The man nodded his head, ran a hand over his shiny, sweaty bald head. "Five mil it is, then."

"Half upfront," Ross said, "the other half to an offshore account."

"Done."

"Wait a minute!" Erin sat up, legs dangling off the edge of the table. "You said you couldn't pay the drug lord what he wanted. How the hell are you gonna pay us?"

Ross and Christmas turned back to the man, whose skin had suddenly gone white. He moistened his lips, sweat glistening on his upper lip. Erin stood to her feet, brushed by between Ross and Lee, the bare skin of her arms brushing their shoulders. She stopped less than a foot away from the man, eyes flashing. The man winced and cringed beneath her gaze.

"I can come up with the money for you guys," the man stuttered. "I've made too many payments to the drug lord in the past few months, however. I don't want the IRS sniffing around. But I can pay you guys."

Ross nodded his head. "Where in Mexico?"

Erin stepped away from the senator, slipped between Christmas and Ross. Christmas shifted away, intense fire broiling in his stomach, threatening to extend to his abdomen. Ross, acutely aware of the tantalizing heat Erin's body exuded, forced himself to focus on the senator.

"He, um, sometimes works in Chihuahua and, um, Guerrero, I believe," the man replied. "But, uh, he's in Baja California, mostly…at least, he is right now."

"Baja California?"

Ross and Christmas turned to look at Erin. She stood rigid, muscles tensed, coiled so tight that she seemed ready to spring across the room with no effort whatsoever. She passed a hand over her face, turned away, placed her hands on her hips. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Her breathing was slow and controlled; she took large breaths, huge gulps of air, trying to control herself. Ross noticed the tear that slipped over her lashes, a single, clear droplet that trickled down her face as Erin grew frustrated.

"His name wouldn't be Enrique Carrillo, would it?" she asked, back facing the senator and two Expendables.

"Um, yeah. How did you know?"

Erin shrugged, brushed the tear from her face. Expression settling into a stony mask, she faced the client, eyes glinting. "You expect us to kill that man, right?"

"Yes, that would be ideal."

"What if I told you he was already dead?"

The senator's brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"Enrique Carrillo was killed in 2006," Erin explained. "A team of mercs was hired to take him out in May of that year. The authorities found the drug lord July fourth. He was shot to death, and viciously, at that. It was a bloody mess, I'll tell you that. Coroners said he died only a few days before. He was positively IDed as Enrique Carrillo by authorities, cartel members, _and_ family."

"Then who the hell is trying to con me of my money?" the senator cried, threw his hands up in the air, angry.

"That would be the man who hired the team to kill him." Erin's eyes darkened. "His name is Alejandro Morales. Over here, though, he's known as Alexander Montoya."

"Hold on." Christmas stepped forward, frowning. "Alexander Montoya? You mean that fucking millionaire who sells those stupid CDs about _becoming_ a millionaire?"

"You're shitting me," the senator said, shook his head. "You're fucking shitting me."

"Unfortunately, I'm not." Erin rolled her wrists, the bone cracking ominously. "I wish I were. It would make things so much easier. We can still take him down, but it'll cost us a little more."

Christmas spun to face Ross, just about ready to throttle Erin for taking control of the deal. Ross shook his head, almost in a stupefied daze. Erin rolled her shoulders after she finished with her wrists, her gaze fixed hard on the senator.

"Seven mil," she said. "Take it or leave it."

"Seven million!" The man shook his head. "That's fucking outrageous!"

"What you're trying to get us to do is fucking outrageous," Erin snapped. "Alexander Montoya, aka Alejandro Morales, is now one of the biggest drug lords in all of Mexico, and nobody even knows it's him! He's in the states, in case you haven't noticed. That complicates our job. And _because_ he's a millionaire, his death would be all over the fucking news. Documents would be traced back to you, and later on to us. Naturally, you want us to burn the evidence, right? Well, that's more fucking work! So if you want this done right, you better pay up good, else you'll have to find somebody else to do it – and they're liable to fuck it up so bad you'll be screaming 'cause you were screwed so fucking hard up the ass, _capeesh_?"

The senator nodded, eyes widened in fright. "Alright, alright, seven million. That's doable, I swear!"

"We want the first half by next Saturday. That gives you a full week to come up with the money and write it off as some business expense so the fucking IRS doesn't get suspicious," Erin growled. "Now, go back to your party before your guests start wondering where you went. I'm sure they'll find it odd that you went off with two fierce looking men and a girl with wolves on her fucking shoulder."

The man nodded again, hurried from the room. Erin sighed, shook her head, kicked the door shut with her foot, locked it deftly. She stared at the grain of the wood, glanced over her shoulder at Christmas and Ross's stares. Passing a hand over her face, she approached to the two Expendables.

"I'm sorry," she began. "This was a job _The Ravenous_ didn't finish. You boys don't have to do it. You'll still get your fair share of the money. In fact, you can keep it all, for all I fucking care. I just want Alexander Montoya six feet under."

"I don't understand," Ross said.

"It's a story for another day," Erin muttered. "I think it's time we left. I've got to give the bouncer my number before we leave, and I have a feeling that we're gonna be kicked out soon enough."

Ross cringed. "You're not taking the job alone, Erin. You'll get yourself killed."

"Are you kidding me?" Erin laughed, voice harsh and bitter. "This'll be easy as hell. It'll be a fucking walk in the park, and I haven't had one of those in awhile."

"You're not going by yourself."

"Besides," Christmas growled, "Ross said you couldn't get in the way of the first job."

"Yeah, well, in case you didn't notice, Lee," Erin snapped, "it really isn't _The Expendables_ job, is it? It's _my_ unfinished business." She passed a hand over her face, unlocked the door, yanked it open. "Let's go before I'm tempted to bring out my knife."


	13. Arguing, Arguing

**A/N:** Sorry it's so short! Don't worry, the next chapter should be longer!

* * *

"How'd it go?" Tool asked.

"Ask Miss I-wear-the-fucking-pants," Christmas snapped, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Erin.

Erin stepped out of the Royce, dress shimmering around her. A scowl darkened her face, made her eyes livid with fury and danger. Tool approached, hesitant. Erin glanced at him; her gaze softened. She offered a weak smile.

"Well?" Tool asked. "I'm waiting."

"Seven million," Erin answered, threw herself into a seat. "That's what he's paying."

"_Seven_ million?" Tool glanced sharply at Ross. The lead Expendable nodded his head, still somewhat stunned and appalled by Erin's audacity. "How'd you get him into agreeing to _seven million_?"

"It's a hard job." Erin passed a hand over her face, eyes darkening. "You guys get to keep the money, though. This is personal."

Tool yanked the pipe from his mouth. "What the _hell_ are you talking about? You're _not_ going on a fucking job by your-fucking-self!"

"I have to," Erin stated, flicked her gaze over to Ross, gave him a hard, challenging stare. "It's vengeance."

"Vengeance? _Vengeance?_" Tool turned to Ross. "Barney, knock some sense into her brain! Smack her or something!"

Ross shook his head. "No matter how bad I want to, I'm not gonna hit her, even if she _is_ being stubborn."

"A stubborn bitch is more like it," Christmas muttered from the corner, yanked the tie off his neck. He grumbled incoherently to himself, shrugged out of the suit jacket, unbuttoned the dress shirt so he could breathe.

"Listen, this is a dangerous job." Erin settled down on the edge of Tool's tattoo chair. "I don't want to get you guys involved anyway."

"Jesus!" Tool shook his head, made to throttle Erin's neck, pulled away at the last moment. "The fuck you're going alone. _I'll_ be tailing your ass if you don't have Ross and Lee with you."

"Hey," Erin snapped, "in case you haven't noticed, you're a bit out of practice! It's people like you that would fuck the job up! You're so out of practice you'd get a bullet up your ass the moment you set foot on Montoya's property."

Tool flinched, drew back. "Montoya? As in _Alexander_ Montoya, the millionaire?"

"Yes, Tool, the millionaire." For the umpteenth time, Erin passed a hand over her face, rubbed her temples and eyes wearily. "Listen, listen, the job doesn't need to get done right away. We've got a day or two before we're wired the first half of the money. We can argue about this later. Right now, I need to go home, eat, take a shower, and hit the fucking hay."

"_You_ aren't going anywhere," Tool growled, stepped into Erin's path. He met Erin's lethal gaze, died a little inside as her eyes bored into his with venom. "This needs to be settled right now."

"I don't give a damn whether or not you guys tag along." Erin sat back down, let her gaze dart over to Ross and Lee for a brief moment. "If you are, then it's _my_ mission and you do what _I_ say."

"_Fuck _no!" Christmas, stripped of his tie and suit jacket, stormed over to the woman. "If you want to be a part of this team then you listen to _us_. That was part of the fucking rules!"

"Fine, then!" Erin leapt to her feet, shouldered past Tool. "Forget about it! I won't join the team, you won't get the seven million, and you won't have another asset." Yanking open the car door, Erin threw herself inside, revved the engine, backed out of the garage, tore down the street, wheels squealing.

The three men stood in silence, more or less stunned than anything else. After a moment, Christmas rolled his shoulders, both relief and regret rolling in his chest.

"Good riddance," he growled.

Ross pivoted around so fast Christmas hardly saw him coming. The older man slammed Christmas against a nearby wall, knocking the air out of lungs. Barney hit Lee across the face, drew blood, hit him again. The Brit tried to fight back, tried to use his youthfulness to his best advantage. Ross threw Christmas against a wall again, grabbed Lee by the collar.

"What the _fuck_ is your _problem_?" Ross yelled. "Look what you just did! If I ever met an asshole and a dumbass, it was _you_!"

Christmas shoved the older man away. "No, what the fuck is _your_ problem? She's bad for the team, can't you see that? We're better off without her!"

"I don't know why you don't like her," Tool said, having stood unmoving while Ross had attacked Lee, "but whatever the hell it is, you need to put it fucking aside."

"Why? What good would she have done us?"

At this, Tool and Ross fell silent. Ross turned away, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. Tool relit his pipe, took a long drag. Lee nodded his head, an unintentional smirk twisting at the corner of his lips.

"Exactly," he sneered. "For once, I'm right and you guys – "

"She threw knives better than you and me," Tool cut Christmas off, eyes wandering to the knife-board. "Betcha she's a helluva shot in the field. And she probably could've seduced her way into any man's bed. Do you know how easier that would make your job?"

"I don't see how having Erin fuck her way through the job would've helped us."

"She could kill him in his sleep," Ross spoke up, voice low, dangerous. "If she were to put her mind to it, she could probably kill us all within in a couple of hours. Hale, Toll Road, and Gunner are at home, sleeping. They're vulnerable, and Erin is more than capable of slipping into a house unseen. She _is_ a woman, after all."

Christmas glanced between the two men, brow furrowed. "Oh, I see. I didn't realize you guys loved her so much. You just wanted her around 'cause you liked it. It had nothing to do with putting her on the team."

"Bullshit." Ross stormed towards Lee, was stopped by Tool's arm.

"You know," Tool mused, looking at Ross and Christmas, "I was thinking. Little Miss Gorgeous was probably a millionaire herself."

"What makes you think that?" Christmas folded his arms over his chest, refrained to reach for his knives to threaten the two older men.

"She was part of _The Ravenous_, right? And _The Ravenous_ picked up jobs other mercs passed up or failed. They were sorta the last resort, know what I mean?" Tool took another long drag on his pipe, tried to calm his nerves. "If they were, wouldn't the client pay twice as much? Think about it. If the others teams couldn't get it done, the client's got to be desperate. So he seeks the last on the list, which is _The Ravenous_. _The Ravenous_ take the job, but they are offered twice as much to get it done quick and right. She must've been fucking rich."

"Why the fuck do I care?"

"Can you imagine all the things she had to leave behind once her team was killed?" Tool shook his head. "She had a lot of nerve to leave everything and come down here incognito. And she's been hiding for how long? Three years? I'd say that's a pretty damn good accomplishment, don't you think so, Barney?"

Ross nodded his head, tore his angry gaze away from Lee. He walked away, struggled out of his jacket. Christmas and Tool watched as the older man yanked off his tie, unbuttoned his dress shirt. Lee shook his head, stormed to the other side of the garage, muttering incoherently to himself. Glancing around at the empty shop, he expected Erin to jump out of nowhere and snarl at him playfully, or laugh and mess around with her throwing knife. Christmas punished himself inwardly, created a new mantra.

_Good riddance,_ he thought. _Good riddance, good riddance, good fucking riddance._

"If she's not part of the team," Tool spoke up for both men to hear, "then we have no reason to keep an eye on her, do we?"

Christmas and Ross stopped undressing at opposite sides of the shop. Ross's hand gripped the edge of the chair he was bracing himself again, knuckles turning chalk-white. He pictured Erin's smile, her tears, the tattoo rippling on her shoulder; he heard her laugh, cuss, yell; he felt her hug, her hand, her warmth as she stood next to him. His chest tightened. In the other corner, Christmas imagined Erin in nothing but bare skin, relieved the feeling of her pressing against him, responding to his kisses, shivering as he touched her. Her moans echoed in his ears again as they had in the past few days, haunting him and yet arousing him at the same time. Lacy, for once, didn't even come to mind. Both men stood to their feet slowly, rising with a stiffness that could only be attributed to those who had just realized they had made a mistake. Christmas shook his head, slid into a thin t-shirt. Ross pulled on a long-sleeve, button-up Oxford shirt, rolled the sleeves up lazily, stepped into old, faded jeans. Shedding his dress shoes for his boots, the older man glanced up at Tool, looked away from the man's intense, soul-searching gaze.

"She could be in trouble, you know," Tool added, still exceptionally quiet.

Both men turned, faced Tool with quizzical expressions on their faces. The tattoo artist shrugged, pulled the pipe out of his mouth slowly.

"We've still got that little Mexican contact of hers running around and telling everybody that she's not dead."

Ross had almost forgotten the incident. He laced his shoes quickly, hurried to his motorcycle.

"I'll go talk to her," he said, swinging his leg over the seat, "maybe knock some sense into her brain."

Tool's eyes widened. Whether the action was exaggerated or not, Ross couldn't tell. The tattoo artist asked, "You aren't really going to hit her, are you?"

Ross fixed the man with a stern gaze. "Why the hell would I do that?"

Receiving no answer, Barney revved up the bike, drove it out of the garage. Tool and Christmas watched it go. Once the engine became a distant roar, Tool turned to Lee. He shook his head as he looked at the Brit, heaved a sigh.

"You better watch your ass," the tattoo artist said, still shaking his head. "At the rate you're going, _you'll_ be the one kicked out."


	14. The Ramblings of a Female Merc

The Rolls-Royce sat in the driveway of Erin's house, gleaming dangerously in the darkness. Ross cut the engine of his bike, guided it to a rolling stop beside the luxurious British car. The house was dark before him, tall and imposing despite its small size. Ross glanced up at the shuttered windows, heaved a sigh. Passing a hand over his face, he shook his head, approached the front door. He removed a key from his pocket, one he had had made once he had swiped Erin's spare house key. The door gave way, the lock tumblers easing away with no problems. The entry hallway was dark, illuminated only by a faint, glowing light. Ross let the door fall shut quietly behind him, circled through the house. The small light over the kitchen sink was the only light on in the house, so far as Ross could tell from the ground floor. Worry gripped the older man's chest. Pulling out the handgun tucked beneath his belt in the small of his back, he ascended the stairs hesitantly, peering up at the upper landing for signs of intruders. He found none, even as he searched room after room on the upper floor.

He stood in front of Erin's bedroom, eyes locked on the double doors. Repositioning his grip on the gun, Ross nudged the door open with his foot, pointed his gun into the gloom. No one attacked him, no one shouted, no one shot him. Soft candlelight flickered from the adjoining bathroom. Ross lowered the gun, stepped into the room, shut the door with a nearly inaudible click behind him. Stifled by the darkness, the Expendable hurried to the bathroom, glanced around the doorframe. A few candles illuminated the gloom, shed light onto the porcelain sink and bathtub. Erin sat in the tub, submerged to her collarbone in water. Ross sighed with relief, slid his handgun back beneath his belt. He strode into the bathroom silently, found a small stool in the corner. Dragging it to a stop a foot from the base of the tub, he sat down, faced Erin.

The shadows played on the woman's face, dancing playfully and maliciously as the candles wavered and shivered. Erin's eyes, dark as they were in normal light, seemed to be nothing but pools of obsidian black, a darkness that could not be vanquished. The angles of her face were sharpened by the shadows, giving her a dangerous, harpy-like appearance. She turned her head, met Ross's gaze. He saw anger and pain flash in her eyes, read the lines of frustration and weariness on her face. Erin looked away, however, and settled back into her languid position in the tub. The water was clear, and Ross was sorely tempted. He glanced down, glimpsed Erin's naked body, looked away as a hot flush crept up the back of his neck and into his face. If not for the candlelight, Erin would have seen his reaction. Eyes focused on the far wall, Erin gave a slow sigh, shoulders slumping with the action.

"There's a book on the counter," she stated, voice low, quiet. "A page is bookmarked. Read the highlighted to me."

Ross picked up the book. "_The Day of the Jackal_," he murmured, glancing at the title. He flipped open the designated page, frowned at the highlighted text. "_The day of the Jackal was over._"

"Read the back cover."

Ross turned the book over in his hands. "_The Jackal. A tall, blond Englishman with opaque, gray eyes. A killer at the top of his profession. A man unknown to any secret service in the world. An assassin with a contract to kill the world's most heavily guarded man. One man with a rifle who can change the course of history. One man whose mission is so secretive not even his employers know his name. And as the minutes count down to the final act of execution, it seems that there is no power on earth that can stop the Jackal._"

"It's my favorite book," Erin said once Ross had finished. "I always found the Jackal to be alluring and sexy, even when I was fourteen. There was just something…_about_ him that I loved, and I didn't know what. I still don't know what. But, when I was a young girl, I imagined myself becoming the Jackal. You know, the perfect killer, one whose true name was never known by anybody. I didn't think I'd become a mercenary. It was all Leroy's fault." Erin smirked, created a harsh twist of the mouth that was only accentuated by the darting shadows. "He saw me throwing knives one day. It was a hobby of mine – something I wanted to make different about the Jackal, I guess. Leroy must've thought that, too. He came over and started talking to me, started saying all this shit about what my talent could be used for. Next thing I knew, I was in an old storage unit meeting a group of men who didn't think much of me, aside that I was a pretty good looking chick."

Erin shifted in the tub, rested her heel on the edge of the porcelain, drawing Ross's gaze to the curve of her flesh inadvertently. "They all said no to Leroy. They told him, 'She's no good for the team. She'll only get herself killed. We'll end up in the biggest pile of shit ever.' But Leroy was firm. He said to them, 'Let's just try her out, okay? It's worth a shot.' And they were all pissed off about it. 'A woman doesn't belong in a merc team,' Phil would say. Then again, he had a little girl, so he wasn't much for having a young woman going into the bloody business he was in. But, um…" Erin swallowed thickly, rolled her shoulders. "I proved him wrong. I proved them all wrong, except for Leroy, of course. He knew I had it in me the whole time, right from the moment he saw me throw that knife. I don't know if I should love him or hate him for pulling me into this business." Erin shook her head. "He gave me a chance that nobody else would…just like you."

Erin fixed Ross with an unreadable gaze. "Later, he realized that he just wanted me around, you know. As the years wore on, he realized that he loved me, and he tried to get me out of the business. Didn't work, though. I was stubborn, and he was stubborn, and it just made for an ongoing argument that eventually became more of a play-fight than anything else. The other boys sure as hell got a kick out of us." Erin shook her head again, sighed. "Anyway, the point is, most of those guys in the beginning hated my guts, just 'cause I was a woman and I was showing them up, really. Most of them realized it was because they thought I was hot, and they knew they couldn't get their hands on me, so they were jealous and frustrated and full of testosterone. Phantom…he was the one who was against me the whole time until I saved his ass. From then on, we were practically inseparable, mostly 'cause he knew I'd save his ass again should he get into trouble. Christmas reminds me of Phantom so much, but his anger towards me…it's so deep-seated that it's pissing me off."

"Lee gets a little emotional," Ross stated, voice hushed to match Erin's volume.

"I'll say." Erin let her leg slide back into the tub. She stretched her arms high above her head, body rippling with the action. "It's been hard hiding. I mean, it's been hard staying underneath the radar and keeping myself from trying to kill the bastard who hired my team for the Iraq assignment. There are only a few people who know I'm alive, but I guess there'll be more, now that that old contact of mine is running around like crazy, telling everybody who knew me that I'm not dead. The little fucker." The woman exhaled heavily, clicked her tongue. "Doesn't matter anymore, I guess." She faced Ross, gaze unwavering. "Why are you here? I'm not part of the team anymore. You don't need to keep watching me."

"I don't want you to leave."

The silence stretched, aside from the occasional slop of water as Erin shifted in the tub. She glanced away, and Ross found his eyes lingering on her bare body, tracing the curve of her naked breast, the slope of her toned stomach. He swallowed thickly, forced his gaze back up to Erin's face.

"Why?" she finally asked.

Ross glanced down at his left hand, noted the scars that laced the flesh from a nasty, old wound. "You're good for the team, no matter what Christmas thinks. For all I care, he can go fuck himself."

"I think he does enough of that already," Erin muttered, rolled her eyes.

"And, um…" Ross let his gaze fall to the floor. "I…just don't want you to go. I want to protect you."

"I can take care of myself. I've been doing it for years now."

"But now people know you're alive," Ross pointed out. He sighed, partly in frustration, partly in weariness. He was quiet for a moment. "Tool would miss you."

Erin chuckled. "I bet. He's quite a guy. He kinda reminds me of Rover. Rover was always flirting with me – and all the girls he ran across, really. And he had a talent for painting. He and Tool would've gotten along just fine. 'Soul brothers.' That sounds like Tool and Rover."

"Things have been different since you showed up," Ross continued, the words coming out in a mumble. "We'd all miss you, even Christmas."

"Yeah." Erin rolled her eyes. "He sure missed me after he fucked me."

Ross tensed in his chair. "What?"

Erin shook her head. "It doesn't matter, Ross. What's done is done."

The woman pulled the plug out of the tub and stood up, water cascading down her body. Ross couldn't tear his gaze away. Erin stepped out of the bathtub, stepped around Ross, reached for a towel. The shadows, contrasting with the sharpness of her face, made the woman's body glow with a golden warmth. Ross got to his feet slowly, watched with a dry mouth as Erin wrapped herself in the body towel and run her fingers through her hair. She turned to the Expendable, head titled to one side, eyes flickering.

"I'd miss you guys, too," Erin said. "It's hard losing one team. I really don't want to lose another."

Without another word, she went into her bedroom, toweling herself dry as Ross followed a good distance behind. She slipped into a thin nightie and underwear, letting her wet hair drip all over the carpeted floor. She squeezed all the water out of her locks onto her towel, ran her hand through her hair in an effort to comb it. Ross merely stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching her wordlessly.

"Can you blow out the candles?" she asked, gestured to the flickering candlelight. "I don't want the house to catch on fire."

Ross obliged as Erin pulled back the top sheet of her bed. The two were plunged into darkness. After a moment, Ross's eyes adjusted to the gloom. He approached the comfy chair, only to feel Erin's hand clasp his. He turned to look at her. Her face was expressionless but soft, almost reassuring. Her hand was cool in his, felt comfortable in his grasp. Again, without a word, Erin led the Expendable to the bed, pulled him onto it with hardly any resistance. As she snuggled up beside him, however, Ross began to protest.

"Erin," he began, "this isn't – "

"Shh." Erin rolled around to face him. The woman wriggled closer, gently pressed her lips against Ross's. They were soft on his, not at all the kiss one would expect from a mercenary.

On instinct, the Expendable reacted to the kiss, pushed open Erin's mouth with his tongue. A shiver darted down his spine as Erin let her tongue slide against his and flick across his lips. After a moment, Erin pulled away, pushed her head up underneath Ross's chin. Ross responded sluggishly, still surprised by the kiss.

"Just hold me," Erin whispered. "I want to be held."

Ross's arms enveloped Erin into a comforting embrace. She relaxed against him and fell into sleep.

Ross stayed awake most the night, fighting over the feelings in his chest.


	15. It Has to Be Done

**A/N:** Hey, guys, I finally updated! I hope you like it. It's 11:30 am over here, and I'm just about ready to fall asleep. xP

Just a heads-up: National Novel Writing Month starts November 1st, so the changes that I'll be updating during November are slim. I have 50k words to write for a novel from November 1st to November 30th, so I want have much time to write for this fic on the side. _However_, I am working on trying to write chapters in advance to publish periodically throughout November, 'kay? Don't worry! I won't let you guys down!

* * *

Chocolate brown eyes.

Ross blinked, tried to gauge his surroundings. The eyes blinked in front of him, twinkled. It took Ross only a split second to remember he was at Erin's house. In her bed. Staring at her face.

"Good morning sleeping beauty," Erin whispered, breath velvety against Ross's skin.

"Morning." Ross noticed that Erin's eyes had darker flecks of brown, that her irises were ringed with a solid black outline. "What time is it?"

"It's almost noon."

"Noon?" Ross sat up in bed. "I haven't slept that long in years."

"Maybe you were just never at peace," Erin said, sitting upright beside Ross. "I hope that this means things will be better for you in the future."

"I'm not wearing my lucky ring," Ross muttered dryly. He glanced down, sighed inwardly when he saw that he still wore clothes.

_No sex,_ he thought, remembering. _You didn't have sex with her. That would complicate things._

In an instant, however, he remembered the kiss. Ross swallowed thickly, turned his head to glance at Erin. The younger woman smiled at him, features soft for once. The weariness and frustration that Ross had seen the night before had faded to thin, thin, thin, thin, _thin_ lines on the woman's face. The bags beneath her eyes had visibly lightened and diminished; even her shoulders seemed relax.

"Are you gonna make breakfast?"

"What do you want?"

Erin pursed her lips. "I don't know. You pick. I've got a shitload of stuff in the pantry that needs to be used."

Ross nodded his head, glanced down at Erin's nightie. She smirked as she caught his gaze, rolled away from beside him. Pulling out one of her bureau drawers, she grabbed mid-thigh shorts and a racer-back tank top. Ross left the room, lumbered down the stairs and into the kitchen. He heard the toilet flush on the second floor as he sifted through the pantry, searching for something to eat. Pancakes were tempting again, but Ross figured he had spoiled the men enough for the month. Settling on omelets instead, the older man set about in the kitchen, quickly and quietly working on the stove and with the eggs.

Ross nearly dropped the pan as he turned around. Erin smirked at him from her position against the sink, close enough to Ross that she could have hurt him had she been an evildoer. The young woman, as silent as she had been entering the room, set up the table for breakfast and allowed Ross room to dish the omelets on the dishware. Coupled with orange juice, the meal was a nice change for both Ross _and_ Erin, who made ends meet with frozen dinners and takeout in an attempt to keep from poising herself with her own cooking. The two mercs ate quietly, the old sounds being the clinking of dishware. It wasn't until Ross set his plate aside that Erin spoke.

"Alexander Montoya has three homes, two of which are in the U.S." Erin shifted in her seat, rested her elbows on the table. "One is in Arizona; the other is in California. Arizona's closer."

Ross shook his head. "We're not doing this."

"_You're_ not, but _I_ am." Erin's hand clenched into a fist, her wrist cracking with the movement. "The client wants it done quick and easy. But most of all, he wants it done soon. Right now, Montoya should be in his home in Arizona. He spends time with his family there during this time of year, since Christmas is coming up and everything. I'm going to hit him then. When the client wires us the first half of the money on Saturday, I'll be out by Sunday and back on Monday."

"I don't like it," Ross growled. "You'll get yourself killed. He's probably got a small army of bodyguards protecting his ass."

"He does, but you and your team wiped out a small army on Vilena."

"Yeah, and we nearly got our asses fried!"

"But you still made it out alive." Erin stacked her plot atop Ross's, set them aside on the table. Leaning forward, she grabbed Ross's hand in hers. "This is something that has to be done – with or without the seven mil from the client. The world will be a better place without Alexander Montoya."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you have to do this? Why will the world be better off without Montoya?" Ross passed a hand over his face, exhaled heavily. "What's your MO? If it isn't money, then what is it?"

"Personal reasons," Erin answered, nonchalant. "It doesn't matter. You don't need to know."

"I don't need to know, my ass! You're not going _anywhere_ unless you tell me."

Erin shook her head, patted the back of Ross's hand, let her fingers caress his skin. "Listen to me. Alexander Montoya and I have a complicated past that started way before I joined _The Ravenous_. It started with my cousins; they were users and worked for Montoya as hit men. They would do _anything_ for a hit, even if it meant whacking their aunt and uncle." The young woman's face hardened, her eyes flinty. "It's hard, you know, living all alone. You find that you miss your family the most during the times you hated them the most."

Ross's chest tightened. "Your cousins killed your parents?"

"Yeah…" Erin glanced away.

"You said they died from the grief of your brother's death."

"Yeah, well, it was their grief that really did kill them in the end." Erin's hand tightened on Ross's, her eyes still averted. "Some people, when they are grieving, surround themselves with family. That was my parents. They surrounded themselves with everybody they could get their hands on. Cousins, aunts, uncles, twice-removed family members – you name it. All my cousins had to do was poison their food or drink at a get-together and it was all over."

"But you were part of _The Ravenous_ when your brother died."

"Yeah, I was. But, like I said, it started with my cousins. They were eight years older than me, so I was about fourteen or fifteen when I found out they were smoking coke and weed and anything else they could get their hands on."

"What about Alexander Montoya?"

"He tried to make me into a dealer," Erin replied, met Ross's blank gaze. "I knew what he was really after, and it sure as hell wasn't dealing coke. By having me dealing coke, though, he could get closer and closer until he was close enough to fuck me up the ass."

Ross shuddered inwardly, almost paled visibly as Erin went on.

"He almost forced me into a giving him a blowjob, but that's when my brother stepped in and threatened Montoya. That was the first mistake of my brother's life…but, um, Montoya stopped going after me. I turned eighteen, and Leroy found me and taught me the trade and everything. I joined _The Ravenous_ when I was nineteen, and by that time, I had already begun working on a way to get Montoya back for what he'd done. Next thing I know, _The Ravenous_ are sent after Enrique Carrillo. We got the job done, and then I realized that it had been Montoya all along and he was just setting things up. He got my brother killed, and then he had my cousins kill my parents. And it was all because I wouldn't become his personal sex slave."

The Expendable leaned back in his chair, the breath knocked out of him in one single blow by Erin's words. He met the younger woman's gaze and said, "I understand."

"Good." Erin slumped against the back of her chair, heaved a sigh of relief. "Now that we've got that settled, let's get down to business. I have my own contacts and resources and everything, but I'm going to need some of your resources to make sure I get Montoya exactly where I want him."

"Whatever you need."

The young woman's face split with a sadistic grin, eyes flashing mischievously. "Excellent. Now, when's Yang coming back?"

"Tomorrow."

"Even better. I need him to do the brunt of the preliminary research. Most of it is in a file upstairs, but things have changed since my team died." Erin cocked her head to the side, shrugged. "Anyway, I'm sure the boys are missing us. Tool probably told him about the fight yesterday, so they're probably thinking I'm not coming back. I do _not_ want that group of men attacking my house to see if I'm coming back. I've got enough to deal with." A smirk tugged at Erin's lips despite her words. "Should we buy them lunch before we go?"

"No. They can feed themselves."

"And get clogged arteries with all the junk food they eat?" Erin's eyebrow rose, her voice lightening into a carefree chuckle. "The lot of you are getting pretty old, Ross. Better watch out."

"Says the one who's trying to take on a fortress."

"Ah, but you're _letting_ me."

Erin got up from the table, cleared the wood of the plates. After washing the dishes, she tided up Ross's mess, headed into the living room to get her keys. Ross watched intently, frightened by the prospect that Erin would be on her own in Arizona – one woman against a hundred men trained to kill brutally. His stomach rolled over uneasily. The Expendable followed Erin out into the garage, stepped into the outside world. The bright sunlight nearly blinded him, and it took the older man a few moments to regain his vision.

"Where'd the Rolls-Royce go?" he asked, startled to find the driveway empty aside from his motorcycle.

"Oh, Memphis came to pick it up. I told him I only needed it one night." Erin shut the garage door behind her, gestured to the bike. "Are we going to go? Tool's probably dying to see me."

Ross nodded, started up the bike. Erin straddled the seat behind him, arms linking around the older man's waist. Settling in behind him comfortably, the woman smiled into the Expendable's shoulder blade and braced herself as he took off down the road, speeding towards Tool's shop.

"He brought you back!" Tool cried, nearly running to Erin's side as she swung herself off the motorcycle. The tattoo artist pulled her into a tight hug. "You're fucking staying, you got that? No way in hell you're leaving like that again."

Erin grimaced, chuckled. "Yeah, well, next weekend, I'll be in Arizona."

"Doing what?"

"Murdering Alexander Montoya," Ross answered, curt.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Tool cuffed Erin on the side of the head. "You're not going."

"I have to," Erin replied, massaging her scalp. "Fuck, Tool, cut your fucking nails! You could've drawn blood!"

The tattoo artist glanced at his nails, cringed as though seeing them for the first time. "Shit, you're right." He shook his head, turned back on Erin. "Stop distracting me! You're not stepping out of this state – no, out of this _city_ – without one of us!"

"But I have to do this."

"No!"

Ross gripped Tool's shoulder, drew the man's attention. "She has to do this."

Tool's eyes widened. "You're shitting me. You _agree_ with her? Tell me you're going with her, at least!"

"I'm not sure yet."

"_Christmas!_" Erin's yell resonated through the shop, startled Ross and Tool. "_Get your ass in here!_"

Lee materialized from the shadows, a scowl etched into his face. Although inwardly glad that Erin had returned, fierce anger still broiled in his chest, threatened to spew at any moment. Erin strode over to the Brit, brow knit tightly together. As soon as she drew to a stop in front of him, her fist connected with his jaw, sending the man reeling. Christmas stumbled away, hand cupping his jaw.

"Don't you _ever_ talk to me like that again," Erin snarled, "else I'll carve you up so bad you'll wish you'd never been born."

The shop was dead silent. Christmas straightened out of his cowed stoop, fingers probing his jaw tentatively. He glared at Erin with such passionate hatred that even Ross and Tool felt the heat radiating from the man. Ross stepped forward, placed a hand on Erin's shoulder protectively. Lee pressed his lips into a thin line, forced himself quiet. Spots flashed in his left eye, marring his vision.

Hale cleared his throat hesitantly from the other side of the room. The four mercs turned their heads in the black man's direction, saw Toll Road and Gunner there with Hale. Christmas glanced away, hurried from the shop to nurse his injured jaw and ego. Toll Road, Gunner, and Hale shifted awkwardly in the corner; Toll Road and Gunner exchanged knowing glances, their eyes darting between Ross, Erin, and the diminishing figure of Christmas as the Brit disappeared down the street. Hale stepped forward, approached Erin cautiously.

"You okay?" he asked, not sure whether he should reach out and place his hand on the woman's shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm better now." Erin nodded her head. "Sorry I didn't bring lunch. Ross here said you guys could get your own fucking food."

Hale cracked a grin, glanced at Ross. "You lazy ass."

"Hey, watch it," Tool cautioned. "I might just tattoo 'lazy ass' on _your_ ass for Barney."


	16. Yang is Back

"Good to have you back, Yang."

The Asian grimaced at Hale, shook his head. "Yeah, I'll bet. Here, if you missed me so much, why don't you help with my bags?"

Hale pursed his lips, arms folding over his chest. "Nah."

"Asshole."

"Asian prick."

"Shut up, for chrissakes." Christmas refrained from hitting both men upside the head. "Let's get the fuck out of this airport. I'm starving."

Yang shoved one of his bags into the trunk of the rented car, brow furrowed. "What's up with him?"

"Long story," Hale muttered. He heaved the second bag into the trunk as well, taking his sweet time. "A shitload of stuff has happened since you've been gone."

"Oh, yeah? Like what?"

"Well, Erin is gonna – "

"Wait. That woman is still around?"

"I wish." Hale laughed. "Nah, she's still around. Just not _sleeping_ around, know what I mean?"

"You're sick."

"Hey, just 'cause I don't have a family like you doesn't mean I'm a sick perv or nothing."

Yang shoved the last bag into the trunk, shrugged. "Whatever you say, Hale." The Asian fiddled with the bags, realized that they were stacked in such a way that the trunk lid wouldn't close. "You didn't tell me what's bothering Christmas."

Hale passed a hand over his face, glanced warily at the back of Lee's bald head through the back windshield of the car. "Christmas doesn't like Erin much. Don't know why. I don't think Ross or Tool know why, either. Doesn't matter, though. Christmas flew off the handle the other night and nearly made Erin leave the team."

"She's a part of the team now?"

"I guess. It's not official, but I think we've all accepted it." Hale frowned. "Now stop interrupting me and let me finish telling you the fucking story!"

Yang rolled his eyes, shook his head. "Always impatient," he muttered beneath his breath, shifting one of his bags over.

"So, yeah, Erin gets all pissed off and leaves, and then Ross follows her and stays the night trying to convince her and everything. She comes back, and then bitch-slaps Christmas."

"Bitch-slap?"

"Well, no, she full on clocked him in the face. He's got a nasty ass bruise on his jaw now. Boy, was _he_ pissed." Hale let out a low whistle. "Gunner and Toll Road think that Christmas might just up and leave the fucking team. He just hates Erin that much."

"I don't think he hates her," Yang replied, careful with his words. "I think he really likes her, and _that's_ what's pissing him off."

"Whatever the fuck it is, it's messing the karma or some other voodoo shit. I got a bad feeling…"

"Karma is Indian."

"What?"

"Karma is from Hinduism, Sikhism, Jainism, and Buddhism," Yang mumbled, slammed the trunk lid shut. "Voodoo is African and Haitian."

"Who the hell gives a fuck?"

Yang resisted the urge to slam himself on the forehead. "Let's just go."

"Are you two done flirting back there?" Christmas cried, red creeping up his neck from frustration. "I want to fucking eat!"

The trio stopped at a McDonalds on the way back to the tattoo shop, each ordering enough to feed an army ten times over. Stepping into Tool's, they were greeted with open arms and ravenous stomachs. Bombarded by the other men, Christmas, Hale, and Yang barely made it out intact. Only Erin sat off to the side, waiting for the men to claim their share. Ross, still as stoic as always, greeted Yang with a clap on the back and led him over to the young woman, hamburgers and French fries in hand. Erin smiled at Yang.

"Good to see you back alive," she said, taking one of the hamburgers out of his hands. "How's the family?"

"My grandmother," Yang said, tearing open the wrapper to his burger, "is dead. She had a stroke and was hospitalized. She died five days later, two days after I got there."

"At least you got to see her before she passed." Erin reached out and gave Yang's shoulder a compassionate squeeze. "It's hard losing someone you love, I know. Things'll get better, though."

Yang nodded his head, the hint of a grateful smile touching his lips. "I hear a lot has happened since I left."

"We had a job offer come up," Ross began carefully, eyes darting over to Erin's hardening face, "but we refused."

"Why?"

"It was too dangerous."

Erin cleared her throat. "I'm still doing it."

Yang blinked in disbelief. "What? You're going to take on a job all by yourself?"

"I have to," Erin explained, suddenly losing her appetite. "It's important. Trust me."

"I don't know you," Yang pointed out.

"Then trust Ross. He knows I have to do this."

Ross shifted uneasily, forced himself to meet Yang's curious gaze. He shook his head, willing the Asian to let the subject drop for the time being. Yang took another bite of his burger, grimaced.

"America loves grease too much," he grumbled. "Now my digestion is going to be screwed for a week."

"Sorry we like to fuck with you," Hale quipped as he walked by, face glistening from hamburger grease.

"Very funny, Hale."

"Listen," Erin said, drawing Yang's attention, "I need your help. Ross has given me permission to use all your guys' resources. I have a few of my own, but I need to update my information file on the job I'm taking up."

"You're serious?"

"Dead serious." Erin's eyes were hard, flinty. "It's nothing major. I just want you to pull up all the information you have on Alexander Montoya."

"The millionaire?"

"Yes, the fucking millionaire!" Erin exhaled heavily, rolled her eyes. "Jesus, you guys act like you've never killed a rich man."

"Alexander Montoya…what does he have to do with the job?"

"He's one of the biggest drug lords working for Mexico in the U.S. He should be holing up in Arizona within three to four days. He should be there by Saturday at the latest. That's when we get the down payment for the job, anyway."

"How much?"

"Seven mil." Erin swallowed the last of her hamburger, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Anyway, I want information on his house before I check it out myself on Thursday. That's three days from now. I need to have a rundown of his security and surveillance systems before Friday night, at the latest. Can you get it done?"

"I can try. No guarantees." Yang ate the last of his burger. "Does Tool know about this?"

"Yes." Ross glanced over his shoulder. "The others don't know, and we're not telling them – or Christmas – until it's too late for them to say or do anything. We've got enough shit going on right now."


	17. Getting the Job Done

**A/N:** I'm back! After a long month full of writing 50k words of a novel, I am back! And I've got a lot in store for this story and new stories to come!

I hope you guys missed me a bit. :) Here's Chapter 17 of "The Unexpendable". I hope you guys enjoy it profusely.

Oh! And yippee to the relase of _The Expendables_ on DVD! Cross your fingers for me! I hope to get it for Christmas!

* * *

Erin crouched among the bushes and ferns, perched on the outside of Alexander Montoya's security system. Her SOG throwing knives pressed into her skin, strapped to various places for easy access. The cool night air stiffened her exposed fingers, made them rigid. She clenched and unclenched her hands, her eyes darting around, eyeing the security. A man passed close to her, Uzi in hand. Buff and brooding, the man could have intimidated any he came across.

Too bad it was only Erin.

She jumped the man, one knife sliding into his back, the other slicing across his neck. He gurgled, bucked, collapsed to the ground, the Uzi falling into the dirt beside him. Erin dragged the man into the bushes, picked up the Uzi. Slinging it over her shoulder, she stuck to the shadows, darting along the perimeter as quickly as possible. Clad in black, she blended easily into the darkened foliage that made up Montoya's expensive, elaborate landscaping. Only the bulkiness of her Kevlar vest – she never liked wearing it, but Ross had insisted – bothered her and impeded some of her agility. The Colt .45 on her hip weighed heavily on her belt, reminding her of its presence – and its job.

The second guard staggered, a knife jutting out of his neck. Erin yanked it from him, nodding to herself in appraisal of her accuracy, and kicked the gun away from him. He bled to death on the grass, fertilized the soil; Erin was already halfway to the house. The third and fourth guards, standing at the door, on the alert, took silenced bullets to the chest, their bodies slumping against the wall.

"This is too easy," Erin muttered to herself, stepping around the bodies. "Too fucking easy."

The front door, much to Erin's surprise days before when she had read the information Yang had provided, was the only door that wasn't hooked up to the alarm. She slipped inside, clicked the door shut quietly behind her. Her black combat boots made only the slightest of squeaky sounds on the floor, the marble resisting against the soles of the boots. Erin's hands slid over the Uzi, yanked back the safety. She heard a bullet slide into the breech from the extended magazine, a wicked grin crossing her face.

"This is gonna be fun."

She crouched, scurried along the walls. Another guard patrolled the corridor, his back turned to Erin as she approached. Her knife tore into his throat. The body hidden in the nearest room, Erin continued through the house, heading for the staircase. She took the stairs two at a time, a bit recklessly. A man stopped on the top landing, glanced behind his shoulder. His Uzi swung around towards the intruder.

A knife sliced through the air, nailed the man in the forehead. He dropped, his Uzi clattering over the marble stairs. Erin pivoted around, her own Uzi seeking the owner of the knife. Handheld flashlight in hand, Erin illuminated the newcomer's face.

"Christmas," she hissed, clicking the light off. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Saving your ass," he growled, hurrying past her; he yanked his knife out of the dead man's skull, wiped the blood off on the man's clothes.

Erin darted up after him, made sure the landing was clear. "Who else is here?"

"Ross," Christmas answered, unsheathed another knife. "Everybody except Tool."

"You guys are stubborn asses."

"I just saved your life."

Erin shook her head, glanced into one of the bedrooms. "I had it covered."

Christmas flanked Erin's right side. "Covered, my ass."

"Well, your pants came off so fast that your ass wasn't covered for very long, was it?"

"Same goes for your panties."

"You ripped them in half."

Christmas snatched the Uzi out of Erin's hands, grunted. "You ripped my boxers. That makes us even."

"You bit me."

"And you threw a frying pan at my fucking head." Christmas pushed open another door, glanced around. "Let's get this over with."

Erin beckoned Lee over, gestured to the double-doors at the very end of the hallway. Flanked by two guards, one milling aimlessly up and down the hallway, faint laughter trickled through the wood. The two mercs eyed the guards and pulled back, each trying to formulate a plan.

"I've got the one on the right," Lee said, double-checked the Uzi.

"Fuck no. I get the one on the right."

"Don't fucking argue with me."

"Ha! Like you haven't been doing that for the past week."

"Fuck you."

"You already did." Erin pulled the Colt .45 off her belt, checked the full magazine. "I get the guy on the right."

Christmas glared at the woman. "Fine. On three. One – "

Erin rushed forward, sprinted down the hallway. The guards looked up, startled. Christmas cursed, hurried after Erin, Uzi raised. Erin plugged the first guard in the chest, undaunted by his larger and much more powerful gun. She was at the doors by the time Lee emptied half the Uzi's magazine into the second guard, his brow furrowed with frustration.

"What the fuck!"

A bullet scattered the naked woman's brains onto the opposite wall, her body collapsing back onto the bed. Alexander Montoya, partially graying hair and all, hit the floor, reached for the gun in the bedside table's drawer. Erin leapt over the bed, slammed into the older man. Rolling across the floor, Montoya punched her in the stomach, knocked the air out of her lungs despite the Kevlar vest. His fist connected with her temple, white pain burst exploding in her vision. The gun was yanked from her hand, her trigger finger snapping and coursing with pain. Erin tumbled away from the man, taking refuge behind the dresser.

Christmas rushed into the bedroom, saw the Colt .45 come up too late. He crashed against the second door, his heart palpitating from the pain. His chest screamed at him, the bullet still burning in his Kevlar vest. The air punched out of his lungs, Lee felt the Uzi slip out of his hands and thud onto the carpet. A hand grabbed him roughly by the collar, yanked him to his feet. Nausea rose up in his throat; the cold steel of a gun pressed to his temple didn't help much.

"Show yourself," Montoya's voice cried, "or your buddy here dies!"

Slowly, Erin stood up from behind the dresser, her eyes smoldering. Montoya stared at her, widened his eyes in recognition.

"You," he snarled.

"Back from the past." Erin stepped around the dresser. "Let him go, Montoya."

"Why the fuck would I listen to you?"

"You're going to die anyway."

"To hell with that!" Montoya pressed the gun harder into Lee's temple. "I'm the one with the fucking gun."

"Let him go," Erin began, taking a step forward, "and I'll let you shoot me."

Christmas's eyes widened. "Fuck no."

Montoya arched an eyebrow. "How do I know he won't shoot me if I let him go?"

"He won't." Erin fixed Lee with a hard gaze. "I promise."

Montoya shook his head. "I can't trust either of you." He glared at Erin. "What is this? Is it because of your parents? Your brother?"

"Fuck you."

"I wish you that thought crossed your mind when you were sixteen," Montoya sneered. "Then we wouldn't be having this problem."

Erin swallowed thickly. "Let him go."

"Who? Baldy McBaldy here?" Montoya gave a harsh laugh. "No, I'm going to kill him first, and then I'll kill you."

Erin took another step forward. "You're making a bad decision."

Ross, Hale, Yang, Gunner, and Toll Road topped the landing, stopped at the double-doors. Ross's chest constricted, his eyes darting between Montoya and Erin. Montoya shot the merc team a glance, pulled Christmas tighter to him. Ross turned to Yang, who stood the farthest from the door.

"Can you get a clear shot?" he asked.

Yang shook his head. "Christmas is in the way."

Alexander laughed again. "You can't touch me without killing your friend. Who's it going to be?"

"You're making a mistake," Erin repeated, trying to ignore the pain in her finger. "Let Christmas go."

"Christmas?" Montoya shook his head. "Who the hell names their kid Christmas?"

"The Brits," Hale muttered, his hand tightened on his gun; he turned to Ross. "Can't we just fucking kill him?"

Erin shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving Montoya's face. "I'm giving you one last chance. Let him go, and then you can shoot me."

The entire team stiffened. Ross wanted to throw himself into the room, knock Erin aside. Her stare kept him rooted in place, his mind racing a thousand miles per second and getting nowhere. Christmas swallowed thickly, his arms pulling on Montoya's arm.

"Hey, asshole," he yelled, "don't listen to her!"

The muzzle of the gun gouged into Christmas's temple, scraped his skin. "Shut up." Montoya pulled the hammer back on the Colt .45, looked back up at Erin. "How does it feel to lose everybody close to you? It's like you're fucking cursed."

Erin stood motionless, thin-lipped, hands limp at her sides.

"This would be the fourth person I've killed because of you," Montoya said. "See what you do?"

"Hey," Christmas yelled again, "don't do that! Just let her go!"

"Shut – "

Erin pulled the knife from her belt, snapped her arm forward. Montoya's head jerked back, his words dying in his throat. His back slammed into the floor, the Colt .45 tumbling out of his hand. Christmas sagged to his knees, gasping for air. Erin lowered her arm, her hands shaking. She swallowed thickly, took a deep breath. _The Expendables_, Christmas included, stared at her, mouths gaping. She stumbled forward on shaky legs, heart pounding against her ribs. She paused by Christmas's side, her eyes on Montoya's wide, lifeless eyes. She picked up the Colt .45, clicked the safety on. She yanked the knife out of his forehead, wiped his blood off on his silk robe. Her hand came to rest on Christmas's shoulder. She gave him a firm squeeze, finally faced the rest of the team.

"Hi."

Ross hurried forward, pulled Erin into his arms. The other Expendables turned away, startled by the unusual display of emotion on Ross's part. The constriction in Ross's chest relaxed, his nose buried into Erin's hair, taking in her scent. She hugged him back briefly, disengaged herself from his arms, and smiled.

"Told ya I had it handled," she managed to say, her voice surprisingly feeble. She reached down, pulled Christmas to his feet. "We need to get him fixed up," she said. "He took a bullet to the chest."

"Rehab's a bitch," Toll Road called from the hallway, breaking into a smirk.

"You would know," Hale retorted. "Rehab's the only bitch you could ever lay your hands on."

"Fuck you! I'm up to my eyes in pussy."

"You fucking wish."

Erin shook her head. "Why don't you guys get your asses over her and help Christmas?"

"We don't take orders from you," Gunner joked.

"Fuck you."

"We all wish."

The men burst into laughter. Even Christmas cracked a smile through his pain. He clung to Erin as he waited for the other guys to help him out of the house, unable to think of anything else but the feel of her arms around him. Toll Road and Hale propped Christmas up between them, Gunner being too tall to help carry Lee, Yang being too short. Erin gave Ross's hand a comforting squeeze, her other hand snapping the SOG knife back onto her belt.

"Can we go now?" she asked. "The guards'll be here any second."

Ross nodded.

On the plane back home, Christmas bandaged up and lying down in the back, the men celebrated and popped open a few beers. Erin grabbed two and headed towards the back of the plane, the other men too caught up in their laughter and enthusiasm to notice her leave for a moment. She shut the big metal door behind her, faced Christmas. He grimaced up at her, the light overhead shining right in his eyes.

"I brought you a beer," Erin said, handed him the bottle; she sat down next to him, popped open her own, took a deep, long swig.

Christmas held the beer in his hands, pulled himself up into a sitting position. He gazed at Erin over the top of the beer bottle, his eyes searching the profile of her face. He frowned, stared down at his hands.

"Back there," he began quietly, trailed off.

Erin faced him, one eyebrow arched high on her forehead. "Yeah?"

"When you told that asshole to let me go and kill you…"

Erin nodded, understanding dawning on her. "I meant what I said." She took a sip of her beer. "I'd give up my life for any of you guys – all of you guys, if I had to. If it were _The Ravenous_, I would do any and everything to protect them, even if it means I have to die. They were my family." She paused. "The same applies to you guys. I can't afford to lose another family, can I?"

She gave Christmas a weary smile, held up her beer bottle. "To _The Expendables_."

After a moment, Lee lifted up his bottle. "To _The Expendables_."

They drank in silence.


	18. Christmas Eve

**A/N:** Merry belated Christmas! And yay for the Expendables DVD, which I got for Christmas!

I hope you guys all had a wonderful Christmas and got lots of gifts and love and happiness! I know I did.

Enjoy this new chapter!

* * *

"Merry Christmas!"

Beer bottles clinked against each other, glass against glass, the sounds of laughter and good cheer rebounding through the tattoo shop. The men lounged around on a variety of seats, joking and sharing and getting drunker and drunker. The table in the middle of the room – really just a whole bunch of smaller tables pushed together – had been ravaged, the food on the serving plates nothing but scraps. The bones of the huge Christmas turkey lay piled on every plate, alongside the remains of mashed potatoes, gravy, and various vegetables 'macho men' didn't eat. The wine glasses, aside from one, were the only things untouched by greasy hands.

Erin leaned back in her seat, wine glass in hand. The cheap, Italian wine bottle in front of her – just opened – tasted better than she had expected. The tart berry wine slid down her throat with ease, leaving an unpleasant aftertaste that only accentuated the sharpness of the wine. Feeling the warm drink settle in her full belly, Erin glanced around at each man in turn, watching them through half-closed eyelids.

Tool was so drunk he was about ready to pass out. He weaved through the chairs with uncoordinated staggers, leaned on various objects to catch himself and stop the world from spinning. Gunner and Toll Road sniggered at the tattoo artist's actions, tipsy enough themselves to stumble around if they ever stood up. Hale and Yang were snapping at each other – all in good fun – as the alcohol went to work on their brains, killing brain cells and making them all the more compatible. Christmas sat in the corner, stared periodically between Barney and Erin. The older Expendable sat up from his chair and stretched, oblivious of Lee's curious gaze.

"Want some wine?"

Lee nearly fell out of his seat. Wincing as his shoulder – rehabilitated, but still bitchy once in a while – irritated him with pain, he turned his head to see Erin standing right there behind him, a clear wine glass in hand. The wine bottle looked far from promising – Christmas had tasted a few good wines to know what packaging they came in – but he nodded his head anyway and let Erin pour him a generous glass. Hell, he'd only had one beer so far, and the day was almost over. Why not some wine to make it a real Christmas dinner?

Erin pulled up a chair beside Christmas and dropped into it, a sigh escaping her throat. "That was some good food."

"No kidding," the Brit replied quietly, took a sip of the wine; his eyes widened. "This is, um, pretty good."

"For a cheap wine, it sure is." Erin swirled the dark liquid around in her glass, stared into its depths. "It's one of my favorites."

Lee's eyebrows arched in surprise. "You drink wine?"

"Sometimes. Not lately…" She chuckled, took a sip from her glass. "I used to drink a lot of wine, back when I was with _The Ravenous_. We drank wine, whiskey, and vodka." A happy grin touched her lips. "Those were our poisons. I _never_ got as drunk as the rest of them, though, 'cause I only drank wine – only one bottle – and they were busy chugging the whiskey and vodka like it was their last day alive."

"I don't blame them." The hot liquid ran down Lee's throat, warmed him in a pleasant way that beer couldn't achieve. "With this kind of job, there aren't many things to distract us."

"That's 'cause you have some morals," Erin replied. "It really isn't enough for you to just go around screwing every girl you can find. But then you have Tool over there, who grabs at every piece of ass that walks by just 'cause he can't think of holding down any kind of real relationship." The woman shrugged. "So, I guess it really is true."

"What is?"

"That one man's treasure is another man's trash."

Christmas nodded, eyes Erin out of the corner of his vision. She stretched out in the chair, legs reaching out a mile before her. The wine bottle stood at her feet, a green sentinel guarding a greenhorn who knew much more than she let on. Christmas rolled his shoulders, pressed his fingers into his bad one. Eventually, the slightly damaged tissue would heal completely and there wouldn't be anymore pain.

"I thought Kevlar was supposed to keep you from getting hurt," he muttered, tears springing up in his eyes as he pressed into his shoulder harder.

"Yeah, well, Kevlar probably doesn't like you very much," Erin retorted, smirked. "Even with Kevlar, bullets are still mean bitches."

"No shit."

"Mr. Christmas, my man!" Tool's heavy hand clapped down on Lee's bad shoulder, sending an explosion of pain through the Brit's torso.

"_Fuck!_" The wine glass nearly fell from his hand. "Easy on the shoulder, Tool!"

Tool held his hands up, backed off. "I just wanted to know," he slurred, "if you were up for a round tonight."

"Tonight?" Christmas eyed the swaying tattoo artist. "Like that?"

"Yeah." Tool's pipe-scarred lips peeled back into a wicked smile. "Oh, man, you ain't scared, are you, brother?"

"The hell I'm scared," Lee snapped, setting down his wine glass; he stood to his feet, stretched. "I've owned your ass so many times, _you're_ the one who should be scared."

"Uh-uh." The tattoo artist shook his head heavily, his eyes widening as the world spun for a moment. "I ain't never scared."

"Tool." Ross's weathered voice broke through the conversation, drew the tattoo artist's attention. "You aren't doing anything tonight. Sit down and rest, will you? I really don't want a knife in my ass tonight just 'cause you thought it would be fun to throw knives while you're drunk."

"No, no, I can do this, Barney. I'm alright." Despite his words, Tool sank down in the nearest chair, eyelids fluttering. "I'm – I'm good."

In a moment, the man was snoring, beer bottle landing on the ground with a loud _clack_. Gunner and Toll Road fell out of their chairs, spluttered with laughter, hiccupped. Yang and Hale surfaced from their bitching session for a brief moment, laughed as Tool's snores intensified and mimicked the sounds of some kid's imaginary monster hiding under the bed, waiting to strike. Even Christmas chuckled, his mouth widening into a semblance of a grin through his subsiding pain.

"Why don't we go a round?"

The Brit faced Erin, one eyebrow quirked. "You and me?"

"I beat you once," Erin said, stood to her feet. "I bet I can beat you again."

Christmas felt himself rise to the challenge. "Keep dreaming."

"I don't have to."

Ross listened to the exchange quietly. Ever since Erin had taken out Montoya, Christmas had been relatively subdued around her. His normal, emotional self had been put in check, hampered whenever Erin came into the room. On the plane ride back home, Ross had been the only one who had noticed Erin slip into the back of the plane to talk to Christmas. And although he hadn't heard a single word said, Ross guessed that Christmas had, in his own way, thanked Erin for saving his life. Perhaps the two could actually have a stable friendship after all.

Hale leapt off his seat. "Party time! I've got my money on Erin!"

Christmas glared at the man. "Thanks for being supportive."

"Hey, man, I just call it as I see it. She fucking owned your ass the last time."

"Don't remind me."

The men clustered around the doorway, barely out of the way for the two knife throwers. Erin fished out her panther-black blade, spun it in her hand. Her elbow nudged Lee's side.

"You want to try it this time around?" she asked, offering the handle of the SOG knife.

Christmas let his eyes roam the dark blade. "You bet."

The two traded knives and spent a few moments feeling the knives up, testing weight and power. Christmas hooked a finger through the O of the SOG logo on the knife's handle, let the blade spin around his finger for a moment. Erin mimicked the action with Lee's blade, her finger looped through the round hole at the end of the blade's handle. She nodded to herself, passed a finger over the contours of the knife – slowly, sensuously. Christmas glanced away, tossed her blade up into the air, caught it. The men around them shifted from one foot to the other, agitated, eager for the competition to start. Hale, the most impatient of them all, muttered incoherently to himself, eyes darting between the knife throwers and the colorful dart board. The beautiful skull's empty eye sockets taunted them all.

"You first."

Christmas glared at Erin, shook his head as he backed up and stared at the dart board. He held the knife loosely in his hand, his fingers caressing the sides of the blade. A thrill of excitement darted through his spine, imbued him with anticipation and a heightened sense of euphoria. Whether it was the rush of the competition or the combination of beer and wine in his stomach, he wasn't sure.

The blade smacked right between the skull's eyes, quivered just above the skull's empty nose. Hale gave a sharp whistle, jumped up and down as his own excitement, fueled by alcohol, overcame him. Erin nodded her head, met Christmas's smug smirk with arched eyebrows and a deadly gleam in her eye. She tossed Lee's blade into the air, caught it by the loop, spun it once in her hand, let it fly.

The blade hummed against the board, clinking against the SOG knife.

Silence descended on the room.

"Damn," Hale finally said, turned to Erin. "How'd you do that?"

"Do what?" Erin asked, one eyebrow quirked.

"Get it right next to Christmas's?"

"That one," she said, glancing at Lee, "was pure luck. That knife has some weight issues."

"Weight issues?" Christmas glanced at the two blades in the board. "What the hell are you talking about? It's perfectly fine! If anything, your knife is too light."

"Whatever you say," Erin muttered, chuckled to herself. She sauntered over, pulled the knives out of the board. "We'll call that a tie."

"The hell we will." Christmas snatched his blade out of Erin's hand. "One more round."

Erin shrugged, grinned as she caught the glimmer of playfulness in Lee's eyes. "You first."

Christmas's blade arched through the air, slammed into the skull's eye socket. Lee grimaced, hoped that Erin would do worse than him. Erin's blade smacked into the board before Christmas could even turn to look at the woman. The blade quivered in place, right in the middle of the skull's nose cavity.

"You got too cocky," Erin said to Christmas, giving Hale a high-five as the black man nearly shit himself from excitement.

"Hock it over," Hale cried, stuck his hand out to Toll Road; the once-wrestler cussed vehemently and pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket.

"Asshole," he snapped.

"Oh, come off it." Hale turned to Gunner. "Hock it over."

Gunner shook his head. "My money's been on Erin the whole time." He extended his hand to Toll Road. "You owe it to me, too, buddy."

"You guys are a bunch of assholes," Toll Road growled, peeled away a few more twenties from the wad. "Fucking assholes."

Erin pulled her knife out of the dart board, tossed Christmas's blade over to the Brit. He caught it and held it tightly in his hand, unable to keep the surprisingly pleased expression out of his eyes. Erin came over and clapped Lee's good shoulder, a tender smile on her face.

"Next time," she said, smacking him lightly on the cheek. "Ross, take me home. I'm ready to crash."

"It's only one-thirty!" Gunner protested. "You can't go to bed this early!"

"Unlike you guys," Erin began, sliding her knife back into its rightful place, "I only stay up really late on New Year's Eve." She picked up the wine half-full wine bottle from the floor. "Besides," she continued, a coy smirk touching the corners of her lips, "if I don't go to sleep, Santa won't come by my house and bring me presents. This is the first time I've ever stayed up late Christmas Eve to celebrate Christmas day at midnight."

"Santa?" Yang's eyebrows arched high on his forehead. "You believe in that?"

"Do you believe in guns?" Her smirk changed from coy to smug. "That's what I thought."

Ross reached out, touched Erin's shoulder. "Ready?"

"Yep."

Leaving the men to protest angrily at Erin's party-pooperness, Ross drove Erin back to her place. Motorcycle tucked away in Erin's garage, the two mercs stumbled into the house and went through the house, carefully checking each and every room for anything suspicious. Erin called an 'all clear' from upstairs and proceeded to slip into her pajamas, trading her usual sleeping basketball shorts for full-length, cotton pajama bottoms; the old tank top was replaced by a long-sleeve shirt. She was done the stairs in an instant, wine bottle still in hand.

"Want some?" she asked.

Ross glanced at the green bottle. "I don't drink wine."

"You can at least _try_ it."

"Fine."

In the kitchen, Erin poured herself and Ross a glass of wine. She handed the smaller of the two to the Expendable and drank her own in silence, watching Ross's reaction. He sipped the berry wine, nodded his head.

"This is good," he murmured, sipped some more. "What is it?"

"Some cheap-ass Italian wine." Erin smiled, poured the last of the wine into Ross's glass. "Some of the more expensive, high-end stuff is too dry for me."

"You like wine?"

Erin nodded. "I always have. I guess that's my mother's fault. She would have me taste-test wines now and then, just 'cause she liked them enough to share."

The two lapsed into silence and finished off the rest of their drink. Glasses in the sink, empty wine bottle on the counter, Erin wandered upstairs to her bedroom, Ross close behind, double-checking the second floor. All the windows were closed, all the doors shut. Nothing was disturbed or changed.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness of Erin's bedroom, the chair in the corner beckoning him. Erin reached for his hand, however, and led him to the bed again. He lay down unbidden, his shoes cast on the carpet. Erin crawled in beside him, her body snuggling close to the man for comfort. He stared into her shadowy face, trying to read the expression in the woman's eyes. She smiled at him, kissed him softly, gently, on the lips.

"You thought I was going to die," she whispered. It had been almost a month since the Montoya assignment, and not a single word had been spoken about it.

"I did," Ross agreed just as quietly.

"You were scared."

"I was worried – "

" – about me."

The two lapsed into silence again. Erin traced the contours of Ross's weathered face, her fingers delicately sliding across his skin. Ross involuntarily sighed in response to her touch, a not unpleasant shiver emanating through his body. Erin kissed him again, a little longer this time. Her fingers slid down his arm, intertwined with his fingers.

"It's been a long time since someone was scared for me," Erin said, her voice wavering. A single tear slid down her cheek, hot on her skin; Ross wiped it away with his thumb, lingered there for a moment.

"You're welcome," he whispered.


	19. Surprise, Surprise

**A/N:** Yay, I updated! *dances* This twist, actually, wasn't in my original plans...it just sort of popped up in my writing, and I let it run away from me. Let's see how it goes, huh?

Enjoy! Reviews are appreciated! :)

* * *

It may have almost been February, but that didn't stop the weather from acting up and doing the most bizarre things. The air was stagnant, as lifeless as the corpses that were left in _The Expendables_ wake, as dry as the Mojave Desert. Of the few Expendables in Tool's, only one wasn't sweating like a pig, and she happened to be relaxing in front of the only fan in the entire shop. A few beads of sweat glistened on her forehead, trickled down between her breasts, down her spine. The sheen of sweat on her body glinted in the late afternoon light, but that was all.

The other men had stripped off their shirts and collapsed into the nearest chairs, wondering how it could be so hot, so thick, so stifling. Ross, much calmer than Tool and Christmas combined, stared up at the ceiling, reveling in the silence the tattoo shop never experienced. Tool muttered in the corner, running his hand through his greasy hair again and again, as he poured over new designs for custom tattoos. Christmas, seated the closest to Erin, set his gaze upon the woman, admiring the way the light played off her skin. His limbs, heavier than anything he had ever attempted to lift, rooted him to the spot and kept him from moving away, confining him to his stretched position, adding to the irritability that slithered slowly beneath his skin, the irritability that was working its way up to his mouth where it would finally be voiced. He noted Erin's immobility that may have been mistaken for death. Aside from the fan tossing aside some of her hair, movement was indiscernible. If she breathed, she had a clever way of keeping any part of her body from moving for every inhalation and exhalation. Not even a pulse could be seen throbbing beneath the skin of her neck.

Christmas forced himself to look over at Ross, feeling his muscles protest as though he had endured a rigorous beating rather than just an exceptionally hot day. He hadn't the effort to toss something in Ross's direction to get the older man's attention; his arm hung limp across his lap, fingers slack.

"Ross," he hissed, his voice dead in the stagnant air. "Ross!"

The Expendable rolled his eyes in Lee's direction, the look in his pupils so intense that the unspoken phrase, "What the hell do you want?" hung in the air. Christmas managed to meet the gaze and nod in Erin's direction.

"Sleeping?" he mouthed.

Ross shrugged, pushed himself out of his chair. In the pregnant silence, his footsteps resounded louder than the biggest freight train roaring by residential houses. His fingers came to rest on Erin's shoulder.

"I'm awake," she grumbled, her eyes opening a crack. "What's up?"

"Nothing." Ross shot a glance at Christmas; Lee shrugged, let his head rest against the back of his chair.

"I can't do this anymore." Erin stood up and stretched, her toes curling within her shoes. Her body rippled as her arms reached for the sky, the abs beneath the elastic band of her sports bra contracting in ways impossible for any normal woman. "I've got an AC at home. Care to join me?"

The mention of air conditioning had Christmas on his feet in an instant. "So long as you have a bottle of cold beer, I'm in."

Erin smirked, turned her attention to Ross. "Come on, let's go. Tool can suffer here by himself. He's done it before."

Sending a glance at Tool over his shoulder, Ross nodded and followed Erin and Lee out of the garage, each straddling their respective bikes and rolling out into the street as silently as possible. Tool, so focused on his work, failed to hear them leave. He only heard the off-key humming in his throat and the beating of his heart.

Once the AC kicked in and all three of them had a cold beer bottle in their hand, the trio collapsed onto Erin's couch. Positioned beneath the AC grate, they enjoyed the waves of cool air that skimmed their skin and made the hair on their arms stand on end. Christmas downed his beer in less than ten minutes and set it aside, completely sated. While Erin and Ross nursed their beers, he messed with a blade. It spun and flickered in his palm, darting between his fingers, slicing through the air, carving symbols into nothingness. Erin watched with an amused expression on her face; Ross shook his head, turned away, focused his gaze on the far wall. The blade danced, pirouetted, leapt. A ballet could not come close to compare.

"We need to do something." Christmas snatched his blade out of the air, let it come to rest in his hand. "I'm tired of sitting around on my ass."

Ross fixed Lee with his doleful eyes. "No call, no job."

The Brit shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line to keep himself from saying something he would regret later. Erin, feet kicked up on the table, picked up the remote, turned on the TV. Although muted, the images onscreen nevertheless caught the trio's attention and drew them in.

Christmas turned to Erin. "What the hell are you doing on TV?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Erin's finger found the MUTE button.

"An anonymous source informed us just hours ago that alleged criminal Erin Frey Ludolf, also known as 'The Knife,' has been spotted after she dropped off the earth three years ago." The woman reporter tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and fixed the camera with a steely gaze, almost as if she knew Erin was on the other end watching. "Our source claims he saw Ludolf over a month ago and pressure brought him forward, but he has yet to tell us where he saw the alleged criminal. Accused of multiple murders, theft, extortion, arson, blackmail, and laundering money, Ludolf has quite the reputation and will undoubtedly stand a fierce trial when she is caught. Police are working on a lead at this time." The reporter had hardly blinked during her statement. "More updates are coming up soon."

Somehow, the remote ended up in Ross's hands; the TV fell silent. Christmas and Ross turned their stares to Erin.

Christmas was the first to speak.

"What the fuck was that?"

Erin tore her eyes away from the TV. Both Christmas and Ross uncharacteristically flinched as the smoldering look in her gaze bored into their skulls. She quivered with anger, but the paleness of her face betrayed her. Worry lines mingled with the lines of fury on her face, darkening her features and turning her eyes into black pits.

"We should have killed that bastard," she growled, on her feet and pacing. "And now the feds are getting wind of it. Shit."

Ross stood up. "Is it true?"

Erin paused mid-step, her back turned to the two Expendables. "Is what true?"

"Were all those things the reporter listed true?"

Everything fell apart. The walls she had constructed, the impenetrable layers in her personality, in her history, in her persona – they all crumbled away. Her confident shoulders sagged, her rigid frame of professionalism and secrecy collapsing beneath her. Her head, although unmoving, seemed to hang, and her askew hair, alluringly tousled before, was no more than the frizzy hair of a weary and frazzled woman. The weight of it all came crashing down on her shoulders, crushing her almost as much as the deaths of _The Ravenous_. She turned a quarter so that only half of the profile of her face could be seen behind the sag of her shoulder.

"Yes."

Christmas shoved himself to his feet, eyes darting between Erin and Ross. Ross met the Brit's gaze, saw the 'I-told-you-so' look hidden behind the astonishment and, surprisingly, disbelief. The older Expendable dropped his eyes to the floor, feeling an inexplicable pressure on his chest and shoulders, as though the weight of the world not only rested on Erin's shoulders, but on his as well. And though he was afraid to ask, the question came out anyway.

"How did they find out?"

Erin faced the two men, the scattered pieces of her façade already piecing themselves back together. Although the weariness remained, as did the worry that drained her cheeks of color, the boldness that _The Expendables_ knew her so well for had returned – and stronger than ever. The glint in her eye – malicious, determined, smoldering. The knit of her eyebrows – strong, powerful, convictional. The clenched muscle in her jaw – furious, pained, frustrated. Christmas and Ross weren't looking at the up-and-coming Expendable; they were looking at the former Ravenous, the girl with the snarling wolves on her back, the girl who learned to be stronger and fiercer than all the rest.

"There's only one way," she said, her voice descending into a deep growl that rose from the depths of her darkest side. "My last employer."

Christmas and Ross, frozen to the spot by her ferocity, a ferocity that that had only _glimpsed_ when that old contact of hers saw her and escaped so many weeks ago, could hardly work their minds around her words. They exchanged a glance between each other, struggled to comprehend as the words of the reporter echoed persistently in their ears. To Erin's surprise, Lee spoke first, his words the exact opposite of what she expected.

"Then we need to kill the fucker."

Even Ross quirked an eyebrow, turned to the Brit, startled by the younger man's blunt and passionate statement. Having only weeks before loathed Erin with a passion, Lee's sudden outburst contradicted all his other actions. His gaze darted from Ross to Erin, the steel in his eyes revealing his firm conviction.

"It's not that simple," Erin snarled, more to herself than to Christmas.

"Yeah? Enlighten me."

"I don't even know the fucker's name!" Erin kicked the wall, winced as pain exploded through her foot. "When my team was slaughtered, I came back to find our whole fucking place on fire. All the documents, all the shit we kept as blackmail – all fucking gone."

"And you have no fucking idea who this asshole is?"

"He's a fed!" Erin couldn't meet either of the Expendables' gazes. "He's a fucking fed, that's all I know."

"What kind of fed?" Christmas pressed, stepping around the coffee table. "FBI? DEA? Home-fucking-land Security?"

Their chests inches from each other, Lee and Erin glared into each other's eyes, one frustrated, the other defiant. Ross stepped forward, placed a hand on both mercs' shoulders. They glared at him instead, pissed that he had interrupted them. The coolness in his eyes, however, dampened the fires within them, calming and frightening them all at once.

"I think," Erin said through clenched teeth, "he's CIA."

Silence descended like the raven on a carcass. Christmas glanced away, mumbled to himself. Ross sighed, his hand reaching up to rub his tired eyes. Although in air conditioning, the heat seemed to have swept over them again; their foreheads glistened with sweat, set them on edge. The fringes of a pissing match were starting to become apparent to Ross.

"CIA?" he asked, voice quiet; Erin nodded. "Any idea how high up?"

"If I don't know his name, he's pretty high up there." Erin dropped her gaze, unable to keep looking at Ross.

"Would you recognize him if you saw him?"

"No."

"Shit." Christmas broke away from the two of them, paced back and forth in the adjoining hallway, muttered and cussed and ran his hands over his head, all the while a steady stream of, "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, _fuck!_" spilling out of his mouth.

"Hey, it's not my fucking fault I was kept out of the loop!" Erin snapped, brow furrowed.

"No, of course not. It's never your fucking fault!" the Brit yelled, stopping in the middle of his pacing; his finger jabbed violently at Erin. "It's never your fucking fault that _any_ of this happens! And it's not your fucking fault I was bloody shot!"

"No, that was _your_ fault for getting in the fucking way!"

"_ENOUGH!_"

The boom of his voice made Christmas and Erin fall silent, their bodies tense with irrational fear. Ross, never one to raise his voice, winced inwardly at having to do so then, clearly seeing the sudden skittishness springing up into the two mercs' faces. He passed a hand through his hair, a deep and weary sigh escaping his throat.

"Would you recognize his voice?" he asked, fixing Erin with an inescapable gaze.

Erin met the gaze, flinched only for a brief moment. "Yes."

The tension in Lee's shoulders relaxed, melted away with that single word. "Then we'll nail the bastard," he snarled, coming up behind Erin. "And we'll nail him hard."


	20. Ambush

**A/N:** I know, I know, it's been forever! You'll have to forgive me! I was running out of steam, and my AP tests were coming around. But school's over, yay! So now I'll be able to upload more.

Excuse this chapter's shortness. I'm sorry.

Enjoy!

* * *

Erin may as well have been put on house arrest. Confined to the humid garage, she wasn't even allowed to go into Tool's tattoo shop, let alone go home on her motorcycle. It sat in the darkest corner, covered in a dark, heavy tarp. The team took turns babysitting again while the rest of the team conducted a massive search.

"Finally," Hale said, jumped to his feet as Christmas entered the garage. "You're turn. I'm grabbing some food." He turned to Erin. "Want anything?"

"What're you getting?"

"Chinese sounds good."

"Get me the usual." Erin watched the man straddle his bike and guide it out the door. She finally met Christmas's gaze. "What?"

"Nothing," the Brit growled, scowling. He meandered through the garage, purposeless, his eyes darting periodically back over to Erin. She lounged on a chair, feet propped up on the nearest elevated object, head tilted back to relieve the tension in her neck. The ears on the wolves tattoo seemed to swivel around and follow Lee's every movement, as though alive and keeping an eye on him while Erin tried to doze.

"We've haven't found shit."

Erin cracked open an eye. "I didn't think you would, but nobody ever listens to me, 'cause I don't know shit."

Christmas shook his head, dragged a chair over to where the former Ravenous team member sat. "Are you _sure_ you never heard a name tossed around?"

Erin sighed, rolled her head to look Christmas straight in the eye. "Would it really matter? You know the CIA. They never tell you the right fucking name. Haven't you seen _The A-Team_?"

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?"

"The fucking CIA bastard was named Lynch, but it turns out that's not his real name – and then there's some other fucking CIA bastard who claims to be Lynch, only they're pretty damn sure that's not his name either." Erin's eyes fluttered shut. "It's amazing I remembered that."

Christmas stared at her, eyes wandering down the length of her body. Cracking her eyes just a slit, Erin watched Christmas's gaze, amused by the furrow in his brow and the coldness in his eyes as he finally came to the end of her long, long legs. He let his eyes drop to the floor, ruminated in his thoughts. Erin reached an arm up over her head, stretched, feeling every muscle in her body tense pleasurably and then relax. She felt like a wolf that had just woken from his midday nap, ready for the rest of the day and whatever shit it brought to her attention. And like any wolf, she wanted to hunt – badly.

"You guys ever gonna let me leave?" she asked. "Or at least go home?"

Christmas yanked his gaze away from the grease-stained cement. "Not until Ross says so."

"Then get him on the phone and ask." Erin pulled herself up, pushed herself onto her feet. "I'm tired of being stuck here; I'd be better off at home."

"He's probably out driving. He can't answer the phone."

"Yes he can. This isn't fucking California. There're no laws here that say he can't talk on the phone while driving."

Christmas frowned, met Erin's penetrating stare. If they had been anymore childish around each other, the two would've had a staring contest. Lee blinked first, fished the cell phone out of his pocket. The corner of Erin's lips twitched into a smug, pleased grin.

"Talk to me."

"Erin wants to go home."

Ross sighed on the other end. "Can't she wait a few more hours?"

Christmas glanced up at Erin. She had begun to pace back and forth, her agitation evident in her step. "I don't think so, Ross. She looks like she's ready to pounce or something."

"Pounce?"

"Yeah. You know, like a cat."

"A cat."

Christmas passed a hand over his face, shook his head. "Forget it. Do I take her home or not?"

Silence. Then:

"Make sure she wears a full helmet. She can't be seen."

"Got it." Christmas ended the call, shoved the cell phone back into his pocket. Erin glanced over at him expectantly, one eyebrow arched in inquiry.

"Well?" she asked, one hand on the nearest motorcycle.

"Grab my helmet."

"Thank you, Ross!" Erin snatched up the Brit's helmet, slipped it over her head while Christmas straddled his bike. "Gotta love that man."

"Sure," Christmas muttered, his voice lost in the roar of his motorcycle.

The ride to Erin's house was uneventful. Cars didn't slow down when they passed them; nobody on the streets gave them a second glance. It was as though they didn't exist, as if they were invisible to the world and only left ripples of displaced air in their wake. There was a beautiful breeze out, despite the overbearing sun; it nipped at the two mercs' exposed skin, cooling them, sending shivers down their spines. They pulled up into Erin's driveway with no problem, parked the motorcycle within the garage. Erin was quick to ditch the stifling helmet. Christmas yanked Erin's tarp over his bike as the woman flicked through her keys to open the door.

"How's a beer sound?" she asked, finally finding the right key.

"Just what I need."

Erin left the door open for Christmas as she headed into the kitchen. Christmas watched the garage door slid shut before he stepped into the house.

Erin's keys clattered against the floor.

"Get your fucking hands off me!"

Christmas stiffened. "Erin!"

Movement to the right. Christmas twisted, reached for the knife on his hip. The force of a freight train hit him. Pain exploded in his chest, exploded in his side. His skull slammed against the tile; ringing filled his ears. His attacker loomed over him. He struggled, his movements sluggish, heavy. He heard Erin fighting in the kitchen, cussing at the top of her lungs. Drawers banged open and shut; silverware, dishes, pots and pans clattered, clanged against the floor. Christmas tried to push himself up, white bursts of pain blinding his eyes. A fist to his gut, another to his jaw. He clawed against his attacker, tried to swivel the bastard off him. The fucker had to weigh at least two hundred forty, probably stood over six feet tall.

Christmas kicked, elbowed, finally flipped the bastard off him. He stumbled to his feet, the room spinning. His attacker was on him before he could even blink. Christmas slammed his fist into the guy's gut, felt the bastard's Kevlar vest jar against his knuckles.

A gunshot went off in the kitchen.

"Erin!" Christmas yelled.

A knee slammed into his crotch, knocked the breath out of him so hard his vision went black for a moment. He slumped over, gasping, gagging. A boot kicked him down to the floor, pressed against the back of his skull. Nausea rolled in Lee's stomach.

The bastard leaned in close to Christmas's face. "Nighty-night, asshole."

The last thing Lee saw was a boot swinging into his vision.


	21. The News

"D'you know where Christmas and Erin went?" Hale asked the moment Ross walked into the garage.

"Back to her place," he answered. "Why?"

"I bought her Chinese food." Hale glanced down at the extra boxes of Chinese food, grinned. "More for me, then."

Ross chuckled, shook his head. Tool popped his head into the garage, waved to Ross. "I'll be out in a minute," he said. "Got one more tat to do, then I'm done for the night."

Ross nodded. He fished his cell phone out of his pocket, dialed Christmas's number. "Don't eat Erin's food just yet," he told Hale. "Let's see if she's still hungry or not."

Hale threw his hands up, pouted. "Really? I was looking forward to the sweet and sour chicken!"

"You should've bought some for yourself." Ross tapped the gas tank of the nearest motorcycle, the phone still ringing. "Answer the phone, Christmas," he muttered, rapped his knuckles against the tank.

"_You've reached Lee Christmas. Can't come to the phone right now. Leave a message._"

Ross frowned, re-dialed. The phone rang – once, twice, three times.

"_You've reached Lee Christmas. Can't come to the phone right now. Leave a message._"

"What? Not picking up?" Hale asked around a mouthful of rice. He forced himself to swallow. "Maybe he doesn't want to talk to you."

"If he doesn't pick up," Ross growled, re-dialing a third time, "he's gonna wish he _never_ talked to me."

Hale set down the Chinese food. "D'you want me to call everyone?"

"Didn't Gunner crash on the couch?"

Hale nodded. "I'll go wake him up."

"_You've reached Lee Christmas. Can't come to the phone right now. Leave a message._"

"Fuck." Ross re-dialed a fourth time, dread creeping into his stomach.

"What have I _told_ you 'bout waking me up?" Gunner cried, his voice booming through the whole garage. He stumbled out from the back, crashed into everything in his path. "Can't a guy get some _sleep_? I haven't been out of rehab that long, buddy. I've still got some crazy in me!"

Hale sat back down with his Chinese food, rolling his eyes. "Boss's orders. Sorry."

Gunner rubbed his eyes, staggered over to Ross. "What the fuck is so important that you had to wake me up?"

"_You've reached Lee Christmas. Can't come to the _– "

Ross hung up. "Lee isn't answering his phone. Something's wrong."

"Yeah, he doesn't want to fucking talk to you." Gunner migrated over to Hale, the smell of the food drawing his attention. "He's probably over at Lacy's house."

"He's with Erin," Ross snapped, calling Christmas one more time.

"Then he's fucking her." Gunner stopped, dead in his tracks. "Wait, that didn't come out right."

Hale shook his head, laughed. "What? Drunk on sleep?"

"Fuck off." Gunner snatched up one of the boxes.

"Hey, that's Erin's. She might chop your balls off if you eat it."

After a moment's thought, Gunner set the food down, snatched up one of the boxes Hale had opened. Hale frowned, reached for his chopsticks, intent on stabbing the fuck out of Gunner's hand. Ross waved the two into silence, brow furrowed, concern etched deep into his features. Gunner jerked a thumb in his direction, received a shrug from Hale. In between bites of noodles, Hale called up Toll Road and Yang, keeping his voice quiet as Ross paced back and forth. Although unease crept down both Hale and Gunner's spines, they stuffed their faces, distracting themselves from the feelings of dread.

"If he doesn't answer," Ross stated quietly, "we're heading over to Erin's place."

The garage door rolled open, flooding the place with cold air. The three Expendables leapt to their feet, reached for the nearest weapons. Christmas stumbled inside, bleeding, groaning. Ross dropped the phone, rushed to the merc's side. Lee collapsed against him, was nearly dropped to the floor. Gunner snatched up his legs, hauled him to the nearest couch. Gun in hand, Hale surveyed the outside world before shutting the garage door and hurrying over to the other mercs.

Christmas spluttered, coughed, gripped Ross's hands like a woman in labor. Blood crusted his white shirt, his jacket, ran down the left side of his face. The split in his skin measured two inches long, half an inch wide, cut down almost to the bone. A livid black and yellow bruise had already started to form around the wound. Upon further inspection, Ross realized that the merc's knives had been taken from him, including the knife in his boot.

"Christ, you look like shit," Gunner stated, reached out to touch Christmas's face. The Brit knocked aside his hand, winced.

"What happened?" Ross snapped his fingers in front of Christmas's face, caught his attention. "Where's Erin?"

"They took her," Lee spat out, his breathing heavy as he fought off waves of pain. "They ambushed us and took her."

The other mercs stiffened. Hale gripped the edge of the couch to death, knuckles snow-white. Toll Road and Yang entered from the other door, laughing and joking. Gunner stood up, his face silencing the other two mercs. Seeing Christmas sprawled out on the couch, they rushed over, questions rolling from their tongues. Ross waved them off.

"Who were they?" he asked, a bit more forceful than he should have.

Christmas gritted his teeth, pain still shooting up from his groin. "I don't know. They knew what they were doing, though."

"How could you let them ambush you?" Toll Road cried, stormed away from the couch. "What a rookie mistake – and _I'm_ the rookie!"

"Save it, Toll Road!" Gunner yelled, stood to his feet again, towering over the ex-wrestler.

"Calm down," Yang intervened, standing between the two men. "Anger isn't going to get us anywhere."

"Oh, bullshit, Yang," Hale snapped. "Preach about your fucking peaceful crap to someone else. We're talking _Erin_ here!"

"Shut the _fuck_ up!" Christmas's voice boomed around the garage. "You're not helping my fucking headache!" He turned his head to Ross. "I don't know what happened to Erin. All I know is they took her. She might've been shot; I heard a gunshot before the lights went out. Bastard took me out like I was nothing. I swear, he was as tall as Gunner and built like Hale. I didn't have a fucking chance."

"What the fuck do we do now?" Gunner asked. "We don't know who the fuck took her."

"I'll bet it's that CIA asshole." Toll Road kicked aside an empty can of gasoline, hands clenched into fists. "Find him, and we find Erin."

"We don't know who he is," Yang pointed out. "Our search hasn't led us anywhere."

Ross, who hadn't spoken a word since the first initial questions, finally spoke, his voice drawing everybody into silence.

"I think it's time we paid Mr. Church a visit."


	22. Worth Your Life

**A/N:** It's about damn time I updated, huh? *chuckles* Sorry for the long wait! I truly am. Despite its length, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

Something was different in the air. His hand paused on the doorknob, his eyes roaming the darkness of the house. _Click, click, click_. The cat came up to his feet, rubbed itself against his expensive slacks. A purr radiated up his leg, tickling his calf. Despite his unease, a soft smile touched his lips. Sweeping the cat off the floor and into his arms, he kicked the door shut and wandered through the house, maneuvering himself with ease. He hadn't lived there long – he was always changing homes – but he knew what was supposed to be where. The cat purred quietly in his arms, claws kneading his blazer. He almost chastised the animal, but the fact that he had four identical suits hanging in his closet upstairs kept him from hitting the cat across the nose.

The stairs rose up to his left, glowing with soft, white luminescence as the moon crept through the window and poured through the slats, pooling at the base of the stairs. His hand rested on the smooth banister, his head tilted down to smirk at his cat. His foot came down on the first step, a clear tap against the wood.

The hair on his nape prickled. Rocking back on his heels, his foot coming back down from the step, he glanced up the stairs, eyebrows furrowing. The purring stopped; the cat leapt from his arms. Her claws scrabbled across the wooden floor as she scrambled to the other side of the house, leaving all manner of claw marks in the polished wood. He cocked his head, strained to listen, fixed his gaze on the top of the stairs. A shiver inched down his spine, settled in his gut.

The feeling passed, left him with nothing but a shudder that shook off his unease. Everything was locked, so the alarm system said. The cat had greeted him, and she was prone to running off for no reason at all – perhaps chasing imaginary ghosts. The house had once been notorious for paranormal activity, but that had proved to be invalid information once he moved in. Nothing was as it seemed.

He descended the stairs as quickly as his aging bones would let him. Things had gone well that night. Everything had been done as planned, and the package had been received not one minute late. He would've loved to indulge himself in opening the package, but sleep dictated otherwise, and the opening of the package itself was not what he was waiting for. There were other more important things that the package would cause. He only needed to sit back and wait.

Something clamped around his mouth. An arm hooked around his neck. A fist rammed into his gut. Fire exploded through his abdomen; a groan of agony came muffled through the hand across his lips. His teeth sunk into flesh, drawing a well of blood onto his tongue. Shouting, cursing – a punch to the mouth. White stars burst in his vision.

Dragged, carried, shoved into a chair. Strapped down to the arms and legs. The sound of duct tape uncoiling filled his ears. He was used to its familiar, metallic, sticky sound. He had grown fond of it since the first time he had heard – but he had been on the other end, not the one tied down and manhandled. No longer a field agent, he found that he was, for the first time in his life, out of shape. The ache spreading through his body, blossoming from his stomach, caused the waves of regret to crash over him.

Blinding light. His vision washed out. He winced, cringed against it, jerked at the sharp jab behind his eyes as his vision tried to autocorrect itself. His head pounded. He was sure a bruise was already spreading out across his face, mottling his skin. If he was lucky, that would be the only thing he'd get.

"Where is she?"

Low, guttural. Barely contained anger. Squinting against the light, he rolled his head in the direction of the speaker. The voice was familiar – _too_ familiar. But it was just the voice he wanted.

"Mr. Barney," he managed to say, his voice calmer than expected. "I was expecting you."

"Where _is_ she, Church?"

Mr. Church couldn't see anything past the beam of white light piercing the darkness. "Such _ancient_ methods, Mr. Barney. I figured you for a modern man. Or am I just thinking about Mr. Christmas?"

Christmas darted into the light, his face inches from Church's. He yanked the spook forward by the tie, tightening the silk band around Church's neck. Red blossomed in the man's face.

"Don't fuck with us," Christmas snarled, voice lower than Ross's. "Where the fuck is she?"

"Where do you think?"

Christmas's fist connected with Church's already sore jaw. The latter jerked in the chair, strained against his restraints, felt blood well up in his mouth and trickle over his lips. Christmas wavered in Church's vision, a blur weaving in and out of two or three merc clones of Lee. The tie wrapped strangle-worthy tight, pinching off his ragged breathing.

"I swear to God, I _will_ kill you." Christmas leaned closer, purposely spitting on Church's face as he spoke. Rage rolled off him in waves, the cords in his neck taut with fury. His light, cold eyes reminded Church of a sharp icicle.* "You'd better tell me where she is, or I will strangle you with this tie, and while I'm doing that, I'll gut you too, you miserable son of a bitch."

Ross placed a hand on Christmas's shoulders. His fingers pressed into the man's still-tender bullet wound. Lee grit his teeth in pain, turning on Ross with hatred flaring hotter than the wildest wildfire in his eyes. Ross met his gaze, stared him down, gave a small shake of the head. As pissed as he was himself, he wasn't going to let Christmas gut the man before he told them what they needed to know.

"You guys got a pretty little paycheck for Vilena," Church stated, sensing the dissension in the ranks. "I didn't expect you assholes to thank me this way."

Christmas stepped out of the light, leaving Ross silhouetted. The lines in his face, deep enough as they were, took on a darker, sinister side. His normally complacent, unreadable face now tightened and creased with restrained anger, although Church was sure it could become unbridled at any moment to a point far past what Christmas had displayed.

"Erin is missing," Ross growled, stepping out of the light to blind Church again. "She was kidnapped. Where is she?"

Church, despite the light, managed to keep his eyes peeled open and his gaze steady. "Tell me, Mr. Barney, what is she worth to you?"

Christmas's voice from the shadows, hot with impatience: "Where _IS_ she?"

Ross remained silent, arms crossed across his chest, brow furrowed. Church looked past the light, tried to locate him in the darkness, found nothing but black – but still talked anyway, sensing that the man was right there. Church cleared his throat, his eyes unblinking.

"Is she worth your life?"

* * *

* Reference to _Die Hard 2: Die Harder_, although Bruce Willis (aka Mr. Church) was the one in that film, not Jason Statham (Lee Christmas).


End file.
